THE     DOCTOR'S 
RECREATION    SERIES 


CHARLES  WELLS  MOULTON 

General  Editor 


VOLUME     TEN 


'DOCTOR'S 
\^  I  C  I  L  E 


1*.     iUi'ii'viL'      3\ill.l  ,^  ^ 

PLArlNC  Doctotf. 


»"i— "—^ 


Chicago  a^ 


New 


— 1 

S^c  DOCTOR'S 
DOMICILE 

EDITED  BY 

ir.  actbur  IRtng 

1 
1 

1905 

THE  SAALFIELD  PUBLISHING  CO. 

Chicago         akron,  0.         New  York 

>  >  * 


>  i 


• »      >     >  a       J    >     J       t 


Copyright,  1905, 

BY 

THE  SAALnELD  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


U»»t     BY 

The    WERNER    COHPANy 
AkaOm,    Omiu 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface iS 

A  Watch  in  the  Night 17 

Madeline  S.  Bridges 

The  Vizier  of  the  Two-Homed  Alexander        ....       18 

Frank  R.  Stockton 

The   Family   Doctor 25 

Augustus  Caille 

The   Magnificent  Madam  Rush 27 

William  Perrine 

Promises         .        < 41 

Augusta  Kortrecht 

The  Doctor's  Relatives 42 

Karl  Erickson 

Doctor  Rabelais 58 

Eugene  Field 
My  Refugees     ..........      60 

Elizabeth  Stuart   Phelps 

The   Country  Doctor 88 

Holman  F.  Day 

Her  Busy  Day 89 

David  H.  Talmage 

Cupid,    M.    D. go 

When  Charlie  Caught  the  Cough       ......       97 

Pa  Becomes  a  Boy  ,\gain         .......     102 

The   Chinese   Physician     ........     104 

Wi!li?.m  E.  S.  Faas 

She  Wanted  the  Doctor loS 

Doctor   Ill 

Robert  Browning 

No.    27    and    the    Pumpkin    Pie iig 

The   Old    Physic   and   the   New 123 

Dr.  B.  W.  Richardson 
The  Modern  Novelist  and  Medical  Subjects     ....     127 

Ormsby's   Enfant    Terrible         .......     131 

J.  .\ubrey  Tyson 
The   Bulletin 144 


Richard  Harris  Barnham  )>  , 


The   Doctor's   Dilemma     .         .         .         . 
Hesba  Stretton 
ix 


147 


434352 


CONTENTS 


Dr.  Falconer's  Temptation 
Dr.  Brandt's  Wife     . 


Tom  Greer 

Katherine  Grosjean 
Two  Cases  of  Grip  .... 

Charles  B.  Lewis  (M.  Quad) 
Baked  Beans  and  Culture 

Eugene  Field 

Fancy   Diseases 

B.  P.  Shillabcr 
Tuskmaker's    ToothpuUer 

G.  H.  Derby 
The  Influence  of  Music  in  Medicine 

Dr.  Charles  H.  Merz 
Hay    Fever        ...... 

Joe   Howard 
The  Leucocyte  and  Microbe     . 

W.  C.  Cooper,  M.  D. 
A    Child's    Judgment         .... 

Robert  Mitchell  Floyd 
The  Doctor's  Narrow   Escape 
Pa  on  the  Microbe  Question     . 
The    Ungrateful    Baker     .... 

Convalescent       ...... 

Will  H.  Ogilvie 

General  average 

A  brief   career 

A  cheese 

A  definition     . 

A  familiar    condition 

A  good  beginning   . 

A  great   invalid 

A  heroic    physician 

A  hot-headed   doctor 

A  medical   jest 

A  mother's   hope 

A  pleasant    possibility 

A  proper    diagnosis 

A  proper    sign 

A  quick    relief 

A  safe   diagnosis 

A  sure  cure     . 

An  eye    to    business 

An  experiment 

An  irresistible  appeal 


PAGE 

200 
210 
213 
216 
217 
220 
224 
225 
229 

230 

231 

23s 

237 
252 

272 
256 

254 
253 
248 
250 
256 
277 
255 
263 

275 
273 
271 
25q 
271 
275 
254 
278 


Y 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

And  that's   so          .... 

.     270 

Another    case           .... 

.     251 

Appendicitis    ..... 

.     276 

An    untimely   toast 

.     251 

As   instructed          .... 

.     252 

An  error  in  diagnosis     . 

.     281 

Bad  medicine 

.     246 

Being  a  doctor        .... 

.         .         .     258 

Boy    or   girl?           .... 

.     236 

Brain   fever 

.         .         .     278 

Brain   work 

.     273 

Bravery  of  a  doctor's  wife 

.     267 

Business  is  business        .         .         .         . 

.     271 

Carrots,  not  claret          .        .        .        . 

•     245 

Cause   and   effect 

-     277 

Cautious 

■     274 

Consolation     .          .          .         .         .         . 

.     273 

Could  cure  convalescence 

.     257 

Doing    .                   

.     270 

Dr.  Mitchell's  parrot        .         .         .         . 

■     279 

Easily  swallowed 

.     259 

Explained 

.         .         .     278 

Fatal  figure  of  speech    .        .        .        . 

.         .         .     246 

Getting  her  money's  worth     . 

.     268 

Had   his    share 

.     269 

Hadn't  missed  it 

.     274 

Had  read  about  it  before 

.     281 

He    is    to    be    pitied        .         .         .         . 

.     248 

He    nearly    burst 

.     264 

Her  idea  of  it 

.280 

Her  own  selection          .        .        .        . 

.     263 

His  chance 

.     254 

His    first    cigar 

.     261 

His   critical   case 

.     247 

Hope  for  the  best 

.     253 

How  he  found  out  about  himself     . 

.     243 

How  the  cure  was  accomplished     . 

.         .         .     276 

It  looked   serious 

.   ■      .         .256 

It  was  not  loose 

.    255 

XJ 


CONTENTS 


Inferior   goods 

In  the  interest  of  science 

Just  like   a   doctor 

Lonesome   Bessie 

Medical  needs 
Miss  Breezy  . 
Municipal  guilt 

Obeying    instructions 
Observing   youth 
Overworked     . 
Out   of   danger 
Out  of  the  past 

Patience 
Paying  patients 
Pillage     . 
Placing  the  blame 

Reasoned  it  out 

Sanitary    . 

Satisfied  with  present  conditions 

Sax  miles  from  Drumtochty 

Semi-success   . 

She  was  taking  no  chances 

Somewhat    different 

Story   of   a   poultice 

Swapped  medicine   . 

The  army  baby's  peril     . 

The    cause    of    the    delay 

The    doctor 

The  doctor's  presence  of  mind 

The    doctor's    vindication 

The    doctor's    way  . 

The  eternal   feminine 

The   fatal  bill 

The  new  mother    . 

The    pastor's    power 

The  publicity  of  it 

The    scientific    spirit 

The  survivor  . 

The  trouble 


PACE 

255 
26s 

280 

281 

273 
277 
251 

253 
242 
276 
255 
254 

278 
270 
280 
274 

256 

271 

273 
276 
256 
239 
272 
240 
253 

241 
270 

257 
252 

254 
277 
253 
256 
245 
257 
262 
264 

254 
272 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Their  idea 270 

To  the  doctor's   intended 239 

Too  personal   .........  274 

Trials    of    a    doctor 260 

Trouble   enough 242 

Ungrateful 272 

Usual   result 271 

Wanted    his    temperature 241 

Wanted  the  carpenter 275 

What    Mary   had 2SS 

What   she    was 266 

Where  she'd  be  vaccinated 247 

Who  was  fooled? 249 

Wrong  diagnosis 279 

FROM    THE    POETS 283 

A    Christian    Science    Wooing        .....  288 
James  J.  Dooling 

.Mas!   Poor  Julia 291 

John  C.   Shea 

A  Different  Diagnosis     .......  30' 

Harry  Romaine 

Anagyria                    .             301 

R.  Coupland  Harding 

Ballad  of  the  Bad  Cold 393 

Bowersville's   Faith-Curist       .......  388 

John   Winks 

Dyspepsia 292 

Frederick  Field 

In   the    Sick-Room 292 

In    Quarantine          ........  29S 

Jean   Baptiste   Paquette 297 

J.  H.  M. 

Madame   LaGrippe 304 

Eleanor  C.  Donnelly 

My   Health  is   Wealth 285 

Sir  Edward  Dyer 

Moral   Cosmetics 285 

Horace  Smith 

Night  in  the  Sick-Room 303 

Margaret  Crosby 
xiii 


CONTENTS 

PACE 

or  Doc  Hopkins 287 

Pain 295 

Elizabeth  West 

Said  Dr.   Wise 296 

Saint  Smith 300 

Shooter's    Hill 286 

Robert  Bloomfield 
"So's  the  Dandylines  Could  Bloom"        .        .        .        .294 
Jack  Bennett 

The  Curing  of  William  Hicks 289 

Wilbur  D.  Nesbit 
The  Doctor's  Dream 299 

G.  A.  Moore,  M.  D. 
The  Medicine  Glass 291 

Wm.  James  Parker 
The  Night  After  Christmas 290 


XIT 


PREFACE 

The  editor  of  this  volume  of  The  Doctor's  Recreation 
Series  is  proud  of  the  opportunity  of  signing  his  name 
to  the  Preface  of  The  Doctor's  Domicile.  If  this  book  is 
not  as  interesting  as  the  other  volumes  that  go  to  make  up 
this  attractive  Library,  the  fault  will  lie  with  the  editor,  as 
the  material  placed  at  his  command  has  been  ample  and 
attractive.  If  the  book  fails  in  any  way,  it  will  be  for  lack 
of  a  proper  critical  power  on  the  editor's  part. 

The  many  courtesies  of  friends  and  others  interested  in 
this  volume  are  hereby  acknowledged,  as  well  as  copyright 
privileges  from  The  Century  Company,  Life  Publishing 
Company,  Madeline  S.  Bridges,  Charles  Scribner's  Sons, 
Curtis  Publishing  Company,  Harper  &  Brothers,  Cosmo- 
politan Publishing  Company,  Keppler  &  Schwarzman,  Judge 
Company,  P.  F.  Collier  &  Son,  and  The  Frank  A.  Munsey 
Company. 

I.  Arthur  King. 


IS 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

Playing  Doctor Frontispiece 

The  Young  Mother 88 

Convalescent  Mother 178 

The  Stork  Brought  It 236 


A  WATCH  IN  THE  NIGHT 

HE  Doctor's  Wife    (opening  her  eyes)  : 
What !    Going  out  again  ?    It  must 
Be  after  one  o'clock. 

The  Doctor  (struggling  into  his  vest): 

Yes,  just. 
The  Doctor's  Wife: 

How  dreadful!     Wear  your  heavy  overcoat; 
And,  dear,  please,  will  you  mail  that  note 
There,  on  the  mantel  ? 
The  Doctor  :  Yes  ;  all  right. 

The  Doctor's  Wife: 

And  hurry,  hurry  back ;  for,  oh. 
When  you're  away  like  this,  at  night, 
I  never  sleep! 
The  Doctor  :    You  don't  ? 
The  Doctor's  Wife  :         Why,  no ! 

What  wife  could  calmly  rest? 
The  Doctor  :  Ah,  true ! 

The  Doctor's  Wife: 

So  come  straight  home. 
The  Doctor  :        That's  what  I'll  do ; 
I  won't  stay  out  to  view  the  sky. 
But  try  to  doze,  dear,  meanwhile. 
The  Doctor's  Wife  (reproachfully) : 

(Opening  her  eyes,  after  a  silence): 
Do  hurry  and  get  off,   for  then 
You'll  be  the  sooner  back  again. 
It  is  so  lonely  watching  here ! 
The  Doctor  (taking  off  his  necktie): 

I've  just  been  gone  three  hours,  my  dear ! 

Madeline  S.  Bridges. 
17 


THE  VIZIER  OF  THE  TWO-HORNED  ALEXANDER 

Mr.  Crowder  studies  Art  under  Apelles,  and  Medicine 
AND  Surgery  under  Hippocrates  and  Galen. 

OW,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Crowder,  regarding  his 

wife  with  a  tender  kindness  which  I  had  frequently 

noticed   in  him,  "just   for  a  change,   I   know   you 

would    like    to   hear   of   a    career   of   prosperity, 

wouldn't  you?" 

"Indeed,  I  would !"  said  Mrs.  Crowder. 

"You  will  have  noticed,"  said  her  husband,  "that  there  has 
been  a  great  deal  of  variety  in  my  vocations ;  in  fact,  I  have 
not  mentioned  a  quarter  of  the  different  trades  and  callings 
in  which  I  have  been  engaged.  It  was  sometimes  desirable 
and  often  absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  change  my  method 
of  making  a  living,  but  during  one  epoch  of  my  life  I  steadily 
devoted  myself  to  a  single  profession.  For  nearly  four  hun- 
dred years  I  was  engaged  almost  continuously  in  the  prac- 
tise of  medicine.  I  found  it  easier  for  me,  as  a  doctor,  to 
change  my  place  of  residence  and  to  appear  in  a  new  country 
with  as  much  property  as  I  could  carry  about  with  me,  than 
if  I  had  done  so  in  any  other  way.  A  prosperous  and  elderly 
man  coming  as  a  stranger  from  a  far  country  would,  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  be  regarded  with  suspicion  unless 
he  were  able  to  give  some  account  of  his  previous  career. 
But  a  doctor  from  a  far  country  was  always  welcome ;  if  he 
could  cure  people  of  their  ailments,  they  did  not  ask  anything 
about  the  former  circumstances  of  his  life.  It  was  perfectly 
natural  for  a  learned  man  to  travel." 

"Did  thee  regularly  study  and  go  to  college,"  asked  Mrs. 
Crowder,  "or  was  thee  a  quack?" 

"Oh,  I  studied,"  said  her  husband,  smiling,  "and  under 
the  best  masters.   I  had  always  a  fancy  for  that  sort  of  thing, 

i8 


THE    TWO-HORNED    ALEXANDER  19 

and  in  the  days  of  the  patriarchs,  when  there  were  no  regu- 
lar doctors,  I  was  often  called  upon,  as  I  told  you." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  his  wife ;  "thee  rubbed  Joshua  with  gravel 
and  pepper." 

"And  cured  him,"  said  he.  "You  ought  not  to  have  omit- 
ted that.  But  it  was  not  until  about  the  fourth  century  be- 
fore Christ  that  I  thought  of  really  studying  medicine.  I 
was  in  the  island  of  Cos,  where  I  had  gone  for  a  very  queer 
reason.  The  great  painter  Apelles  lived  there,  and  I  went 
for  the  purpose  of  studying  art  under  him.  I  was  tired  of 
most  of  the  things  I  had  been  doing,  and  I  thought  it  would 
be  a  good  idea  to  become  a  painter.  Apelles  gave  me  no 
encouragement  when  I  applied  to  him ;  he  told  me  I  was 
entirely  too  old  to  become  a  pupil.  'By  the  time  you  would 
really  know  how  to  paint,'  said  he,  'supposing  you  have  any 
talent  for  it,  you  ought  to  be  beginning  to  arrange  your 
affairs  to  get  ready  to  die.'  Of  course  this  admonition  had 
no  effect  upon  me,  and  I  kept  on  with  my  drawing  lessons. 
If  I  could  not  become  a  painter  of  eminence,  I  thought  that 
at  least  I  might  be  able,  if  I  understood  drawing,  to  become 
a  better  schoolmaster — if  I  should  take  up  that  profession 
again. 

"One  day  Apelles  said  to  me,  after  glancing  at  the  draw- 
ing on  which  I  was  engaged :  'If  you  were  ten  years  younger 
you  might  do  something  in  the  field  of  art,  for  you  would 
make  an  excellent  model  for  the  picture  I  am  about  to  begin. 
But  at  your  present  age  you  would  not  be  able  to  sustain 
the  fatigue  of  remaining  in  a  constrained  position  for  any 
length  of  time.' 

"'What  is  the  subject?'  I  asked. 

"  'A  centurion  in  battle,'  said  he. 

"The  next  day  I  appeared  before  Apelles  with  my  hair 
cropped  short  and  my  face  without  a  vestige  of  a  beard.  'Do 
I  look  young  enough  now  to  be  your  model?'  said  I.  The 
painter  looked  at  me  in  surprise.  'Yes,'  said  he,  'you  look 
young  enough;  but  of  course  you  are  the  same  age  as  you 
were  yesterday.  However,  if  you  would  like  to  try  the 
model  business,  I  will  make  some  sketches  of  you.' 


20  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"For  more  than  a  month,  nearly  every  day,  I  stood  as  a 
model  to  Apelles  for  his  great  picture  of  a  centurion  whose 
sword  had  been  stricken  from  his  hand,  and  who,  in  despera- 
tion, was  preparing  to  defend  himself  against  his  enemy 
with  the  arms  which  nature  had  given  him." 

"Is  that  picture  extant?"  I  asked. 

Mr.  Crowder  smiled.  "None  of  Apelles's  paintings  are  in 
existence  now,"  he  answered.  "While  I  was  acting  as  model 
to  Apelles — and  I  may  remark  that  I  never  grew  tired  of 
standing  in  the  position  he  desired — I  listened  with  great 
satisfaction  to  the  conversations  between  him  and  the  vari- 
ous friends  who  called  upon  him  while  he  was  at  work.  The 
chief  of  these  friends  was  Hippocrates,  the  celebrated  physi- 
cian, between  whom  and  Apelles  a  very  strong  friendship 
existed. 

"Hippocrates  was  a  man  of  great  common  sense.  He  did 
not  believe  that  diseases  were  caused  by  spirits  and  demons 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  and  in  many  ways  he  made  himself 
very  interesting  to  me.  So,  in  course  of  time,  after  having 
visited  him  a  good  deal,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  quit  the 
study  of  art  and  go  into  that  of  medicine. 

"I  got  on  very  well,  and  after  a  time  I  practised  with  him 
in  many  cases,  and  he  must  have  had  a  good  deal  of  confi- 
dence in  me,  for  when  the  King  of  Persia  sent  for  him  to 
come  to  his  court,  offering  him  all  sorts  of  munificent  re- 
wards, Hippocrates  declined,  but  he  suggested  to  me  that 
I  should  go. 

"  'You  look  like  a  doctor,'  said  he.  'The  king  would  have 
confidence  in  you  simply  on  account  of  your  presence ;  and, 
besides,  you  do  know  a  great  deal  about  medicine.'  But  I 
did  not  go  to  Persia,  and  shortly  after  that  I  left  the  island  of 
Cos  and  gave  up  the  practise  of  medicine. 

"Later,  in  the  second  century  before  Christ,  I  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  Methodist  doctor — " 

"A  what?"  Mrs.  Crowder  and  I  exclaimed  at  the  same 
moment. 

He  laughed.  "I  thought  that  would  surprise  you,  but  it  is 
true." 


THE   TWO-HORXED   ALEXANDER  21 

"Of  course  it  is  true,"  said  his  wife,  coloring  a  little. 
"Does  thee  think  I  would  doubt  anything  thee  told  me? 
If  thee  had  said  that  Abraham  had  a  Quaker  cook,  I  would 
have  believed  it." 

"And  if  I  had  told  you  that,"  said  Mr.  Crowder,  "it  would 
have  been  so.  But  to  explain  about  this  Methodist  doctor. 
In  those  days  the  physicians  were  divided  into  three  schools : 
Empirics,  Dogmatists,  and  Methodists.  This  man  I  speak 
of — Asclepiades — was  the  leading  Methodist  physician,  de- 
pending, as  the  name  suggests,  upon  regular  methods  of 
treatment  instead  of  experiments  and  theories  adapted  to 
the  particular  case  in  hand. 

"He  also  was  a  man  of  great  good  sense,  and  was  very 
witty  besides.  He  made  a  good  deal  of  fun  of  other  physi- 
cians, and  used  to  call  the  system  of  Hippocrates  'Medita- 
tion on  Death.'  I  studied  with  him  for  some  time,  but  it 
was  not  until  the  second  century  of  the  present  era  that  I 
really  began  the  practise  of  my  profession.  Then  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  great  Galen.  He  was  a  man  who 
was  not  only  a  physician,  but  an  accomplished  surgeon,  and 
this  could  be  said  of  very  few  people  in  that  age  of  the  world. 
I  studied  anatomy  and  surgery  under  him,  and  afterward 
practised  with  him  as  I  had  done  with  Hippocrates. 

"The  study  of  anatomy  was  rather  difficult  in  those  days, 
because  the  Roman  laws  forbade  the  dissection  of  citizens, 
and  the  anatomists  had  to  depend  for  their  knowledge  of 
the  human  frame  upon  their  examinations  of  the  bodies  of 
enemies  killed  in  battle ;  those  of  slaves,  in  whom  no  one 
took  an  interest ;  but  most  of  all  upon  the  bodies  of  apes. 
Great  numbers  of  these  beasts  were  brought  from  Africa 
solely  for  the  use  of  the  Roman  surgeons,  and  in  that  con- 
nection I  remember  an  incident  which  was  rather  curious. 

"I  had  not  finished  my  studies  under  Galen,  when  that 
great  master  one  day  informed  me  that  a  trader  had  brought 
him  an  ape,  which  had  been  confined  in  a  small  building 
near  his  house.  He  asked  me  to  go  out  and  kill  it  and  have 
it  brought  into  his  dissecting-room,  where  he  was  to  deliver 
a  lecture  to  some  students. 


22  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"I  started  for  the  building  referred  to.  On  the  way  I 
was  met  by  the  trader.  He  was  a  vile-looking  man,  with 
black  matted  hair  and  little  eyes,  and  did  not  look  much 
higher  in  intelligence  than  the  brutes  he  dealt  in.  He  grinned 
diabolically  as  he  led  me  to  the  little  house  and  opened  the 
door.  I  looked  in.  There  was  no  ape  there,  but  in  one 
corner  sat  a  dark-brown  African  girl.  I  looked  at  the  man 
in  surprise.  'The  ape  I  was  to  bring  got  away  from  me,' 
he  said,  'but  that  thing  will  do  a  great  deal  better,  and  I  will 
not  charge  any  more  than  I  would  for  the  ape.  Kill  it,  and 
we  will  put  it  into  a  bag  and  carry  it  to  the  doctor.  He  will 
be  glad  to  see  what  we  have  brought  him  instead  of  an  ape.' 

"I  angrily  ordered  the  man  to  leave  the  place,  and  taking 
the  girl  by  the  arm, — although  I  had  a  good  deal  of  trouble 
in  catching  her, — I  led  her  to  Galen  and  told  him  the  story." 

"And  what  became  of  the  poor  thing  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Crow- 
der. 

"Galen  bought  her  from  the  man  at  the  price  of  an  ape, 
and  tried  to  have  her  educated  as  a  servant ;  but  she  was  a 
wild  creature  and  could  not  be  taught  much.  In  some  way 
or  other  the  people  in  charge  of  the  amphitheater  got  pos- 
session of  her,  and  I  heard  that  she  was  to  figure  in  the 
games  at  an  approaching  great  occasion.  I  was  shocked  and 
grieved  to  hear  this,  for  I  had  taken  an  interest  in  the  girl, 
and  I  knew  what  it  meant  for  her  to  take  part  in  the  games 
in  the  arena.  I  tried  to  buy  her,  but  it  was  of  no  use :  she 
was  wanted  for  a  particular  purpose.  On  the  day  she  was 
to  appear  in  the  arena  I  was  there." 

"I  don't  see  how  thee  could  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Crowder, 
her  face  quite  pale. 

"People's  sensibilities  were  different  in  those  days,"  said 
her  husband.  "I  don't  suppose  I  could  do  such  a  thing  now. 
After  a  time  she  was  brought  out  and  left  entirely  alone  in 
the  middle  of  the  great  space.  She  was  nearly  frightened 
to  death  by  the  people  and  the  fear  of  some  unknown  terror. 
Trembling  from  head  to  foot,  she  looked  from  side  to  side, 
and  at  last  sank  crouching  on  the  ground.  Everybody  was 
quiet,  for  it  was  not  known  what  was  to  happen  next.    Then 


THE   TWO-HORNED    ALEXANDER  23 

a  grating  sound  was  heard,  the  clank  of  an  iron  door, 
and  a  large  brown  bear  appeared  in  the  arena.  The  crouch- 
ing girl  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him,  but  did  not  move. 

"The  idea  of  a  combat  between  this  tender  girl  and  a 
savage  bear  could  not  be  entertained.  What  was  about  to 
occur  seemed  simply  a  piece  of  brutal  carnage,  with  nothing 
to  make  it  interesting.  A  great  many  people  expressed  their 
dissatisfaction.  The  hard-hearted  populace,  even  if  they 
did  not  care  about  fair  play  in  their  games,  did  desire  some 
element  of  chance  which  would  give  flavor  to  the  cruelty. 
But  here  was  nothing  of  the  sort.  It  would  have  been  as 
well  to  feed  the  beast  with  a  sheep. 

"The  bear,  however,  seemed  to  look  upon  the  performance 
as  one  which  would  prove  very  satisfactory.  He  was  hun- 
gry, not  having  had  anything  to  eat  for  several  days,  and 
here  was  an  appetizing  young  person  waiting  for  him  to 
devour  her. 

"He  had  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  the  moment  he  appeared, 
and  had  paid  no  attention  whatever  to  the  crowd  by  which 
he  was  surrounded.  He  gave  a  slight  growl,  the  hairs  on 
his  neck  stood  up,  and  he  made  a  quick  movement  toward 
the  girl.  But  she  did  not  wait  for  him.  Springing  to  her 
feet,  she  fled,  the  bear  after  her. 

"Now  followed  one  of  the  most  exciting  races  ever 
known  in  the  history  of  the  Roman  amphitheatre.  That 
frightened  girl,  as  swift  as  a  deer,  ran  around  and  around 
the  vast  space,  followed  closely  by  her  savage  pursuer ;  but 
although  he  was  active  and  powerful  and  unusually  swift 
for  a  bear,  he  could  not  catch  her. 

"Around  and  around  she  went,  and  around  went  the  red- 
eyed  beast  behind  her ;  but  he  could  not  gain  upon  her,  and 
she  showed  no  sign  that  her  strength  was  giving  out. 

"Now  the  audience  began  to  perceive  that  a  contest  was 
really  going  on :  it  was  a  contest  of  speed  and  endurance, 
and  the  longer  the  girl  ran,  the  more  inclined  the  people 
were  to  take  her  part.  At  last  there  was  a  great  shout  that 
she  should  be  allowed  to  escape.  A  little  door  was  opened 
in  the  side  of  the  amphitheater;  she  shot  through  it,  and 


24  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMCILE 

it  was  closed  almost  in  the  face  of  the  panting  and  furious 
bear." 

"What  became  of  the  poor  girl?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Crowder. 

"A  sculptor  bought  her,"  said  Mr.  Crowder.  "He  wanted 
to  use  her  as  a  model  for  a  statue  of  the  swift  Diana ;  but 
this  never  came  to  anything.  The  girl  could  not  be  made 
to  stand  still  for  a  moment.  She  was  in  a  chronic  condition 
of  being  frightened  to  death.  After  that  I  heard  of  her  no 
more  ;  it  was  easy  for  people  to  disappear  in  Rome.  But  this 
incident  in  the  arena  was  remembered  and  talked  about  for 
many  years  afterward.  The  fact  that  a  girl  was  possessed 
of  such  extraordinary  swiftness  that  she  would  have  been 
able  to  escape  from  a  wild  beast,  by  means  of  her  speed 
alone,  had  she  been  in  an  open  plain,  was  considered  one  of 
the  most  interesting  natural  wonders  which  had  been 
brought  to  the  notice  of  the  Roman  people,  by  means  of  the 
sports  in  the  arena." 

"Fortunately,"  said  Mrs.  Crowder,  "thee  did  not — " 

"No,"  said  her  husband,  "I  did  not.  I  required  more  than 
speed  in  a  case  like  that.  And  now  I  think,"  said  he,  rising, 
"we  must  call  this  session  concluded." 

The  next  day  I  was  obliged  to  bid  farewell  to  the  Crow- 
ders,  and  my  business  arrangements  made  it  improbable  that 
I  should  see  them  again  for  a  long  time — I  could  not  say 
how  long.  As  I  bade  Mr.  Crowder  farewell  and  stood  hold- 
ing his  hand  in  mine,  he  smiled,  and  said :  "That's  right. 
Look  hard  at  me  ;  study  every  line  in  my  face,  and  then  when 
you  see  me  again  you  will  be  better  able" — 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Mrs.  Crowder.  "He  is  just  as  able  to 
judge  now  as  he  would  be  if  he  stayed  away  for  twenty 
years." 

I  believed  her,  as  I  warmly  shook  her  hand,  and  I  believe 
that  I  shall  always  continue  to  believe  her. 

Frank  R.  Stockton. 


m 


THE  FAMILY  DOCTOR 

S  there  a  place  in  society  for  the  family  practitioner, 
and,  if  so,  under  what  precise  conditions  will  he  be 
in  demand? 

Even  though  medical  men  should  in  the  future 
organize  on  a  co-operative  plan — with  the  various  special- 
ties grouped  around  an  able  general  consultant — I  firmly  be- 
lieve the  family  practitioner  is  not  doomed  to  become  extinct, 
and  that  in  due  time  the  people  will  again  elevate  him  to 
the  position  of  trusted  family  counselor,  and  this  opinion 
I  hold  for  two  reasons,  principally. 

In  the  first  place,  many  intelligent  people,  even  at  the 
present  time,  who  are  fortunate  enough  to  have  the  serv- 
ices of  a  thoroughly  good  family  practitioner,  have  refused 
to  give  him  up,  and  have  upheld  the  dignity  of  his  position 
on  every  occasion  where  the  counsel  and  services  of  a  spe- 
cialist were  in  demand ;  and,  in  the  second  place,  the  public 
has  already  experienced  the  many  and  serious  drawbacks 
of  an  indiscriminate  consultation  with  immature  specialists, 
whose  advice,  if  followed,  has  in  many  instances  been  bought 
more  dearly  than  by  dollars  and  cents. 

Much  of  the  specialist's  operative  work  of  today  is  worthy 
of  the  highest  praise ;  on  the  other  hand,  a  large  percentage 
of  operative  work  is  ill-advised,  superfluous,  and  harmful, 
and  as  soon  as  the  more  intelligent  people  of  the  community 
realize  that  such  is  the  case,  they  will  again  turn  for  advice 
to  the  intelligent  family  practitioner ;  they  will  admit  him 
again  to  the  inner  family  council  and  trust  to  him  to  shield 
them  from  the  meddlesome  treatment  of  our  times,  and  to 
deliver  them  into  conservative  and  safe  hands.  And  if  the 
future  family  practitioner  is  to  regain  lost  ground,  again  to 
aspire  to  reach  that  plane  in  the  practise  of  general  medicine 
which  is  properly  his,  and  again  to  enjoy  the  full  confi- 

25 


26  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

dence  of  his  clientele,  it  must  be  through  his  own  individ- 
ual efforts — by  educating  himself  to  become  a  diagnostician. 
In  view  of  the  complex  character  which  is  a  feature  of  some 
of  the  special  examinations,  this  may  seem  a  herculean  task, 
but  I  am  convinced  that  all  medical  men  who  are  fitted  by 
nature  and  proper  education  for  their  work  will,  in  reason- 
able time,  become  competent  diagnosticians,  and  will  be 
capable  of  formulating  precise  indications  for  treatment. 
Under  all  circumstances,  the  general  practitioner  should  di- 
rect his  energies  to  this  end.  His  patients  will  understand 
that  he  cannot  be  a  jack  of  all  trades  and  perform  every- 
thing, but  they  will  expect  him  to  make  a  diagnosis  and 
suggest  proper  treatment.  Augustus  Caille. 


THE  MAGNIFICENT  MADAM  RUSH 

^JS^NE  day  in  1853,  when  Franklin  Pierce  was  Presi- 
I  ^J  I  dent  of  the  United  States,  he  was  walking  on  Chest- 
InnM  nut  Street  in  Philadelphia.  He  was  met  by  a  large 
ImHul  and  showily  dressed  woman,  escorted  by  two  ele- 
gant men  of  fashion,  each  apparently  younger  than  herself. 
President  Pierce  had  already  become  known  as  the  most 
polite  and  graceful  of  all  the  occupants  of  the  White  House 
in  his  observance  of  the  forms  of  etiquette.  He  had  been 
told  that  his  visit  to  the  city  would  be  incomplete  if  he  did 
not  meet  this  imperious  dame. 

One  of  her  peculiar  habits  had  long  been  to  promenade 
the  chief  street  of  her  native  city,  and  there  to  receive  the 
homage  of  her  followers  and  adorers  at  "sidewalk  levees,  or 
open-air  receptions."  She  had  thus  met  men  and  women  of 
all  kinds,  day  after  day  for  many  years — often  a  Cabinet 
Minister,  a  Senator,  a  Bishop,  a  General,  a  man  of  letters,  or 
a  belle  of  the  season.  Indeed,  her  daily  walk  with  her  cava- 
liers had  become  almost  as  famous  as  the  stroll  of  Beau 
Brummel  on  the  Mall  was  to  the  London  of  other  days. 
But  there  was,  perhaps,  no  promenade  of  this  eccentric 
queen  of  fashion  that  was  more  piquant  than  when  she  re- 
ceived the  President  of  the  United  States  on  the  sidewalk, 
and  engaged  him  in  an  animated  chat  without  any  more 
formality  than  she  would  have  shown  to  the  humblest  beau 
who  had  been  in  wait  to  catch  a  smile  of  recognition.  Be- 
fore the  day  was  over  it  was  known  far  and  wide  to  the 
gossips  that  "Frank"  Pierce  was  the  latest  of  the  curb- 
stone courtiers  who  had  been  presented  to  the  magnificent 
"Madam"  Rush. 

It  is  not  easy  to  revive  the  colors  of  a  portrait  which  has 
so  rapidly  faded  away,  as  that  of  this  remarkable  woman, 
then  pre-eminent  among  her  sex  as  a  social  power.    Indeed, 

27 


28  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

she  has  almost  come  to  be  a  vaguely  traditional  or  half 
mythical  figure  in  the  misty  annals  of  that  society  which  she 
ruled  with  a  truly  regal  sway.  No  woman  of  her  time  af- 
fected such  a  social  conquest  as  hers,  despite  her  disadvan- 
tages of  person,  mismated  marriage,  and  the  opposition  of 
the  most  decorous  and  conservative  society  in  America.  Her 
father,  Jacob  Ridgway,  had  been  one  of  the  chief  rivals  in 
Philadelphia  of  Stephen  Girard  in  acquiring  riches  through 
the  shrewdest  of  calculations  in  European  commerce ;  he 
was  one  of  the  earliest  of  our  "self-made"  millionaires,  and 
he  had  been  born  and  bred  among  the  honest  and  wholesome 
Quakers  of  New  Jersey. 

Few  were  there  who  then  thought  this  high-spirited  and 
bonny  daughter  of  the  thrifty  merchant  would  play  such 
a  part  in  the  world  of  fashion  as  would  cause  even  the 
worldly  to  stand  aghast  at  her  gayety  and  sumptuousness. 
WTien  her  critics  first  intimated  to  Phoebe  Ann  Ridgway 
that  she  ought  to  be  more  faithful  to  her  Quaker  lineage, 
she  reminded  them  that  they  might  have  given  the  same 
admonition  to  the  buxom  and  clever  "Dolly"  Madison  for 
having  walked  away  from  the  paths  of  her  Quaker  parents. 
In  truth,  the  Ridgway  girl  had  been  brought  up  under  an  in- 
fluence almost  entirely  removed  from  Quakerism.  Jacob 
Ridg^vay,  as  a  shipper  and  merchant,  had  been  obliged  for 
many  years  to  live  in  Europe  in  caring  for  the  interests 
of  his  firm,  and  especially  at  Antwerp,  as  United  States  Con- 
sul ;  and  it  was  thus  that  his  daughter  in  her  youth  con- 
tracted French  or  Continental  tastes,  in  an  education  which 
the  most  favored  of  her  countrywomen  were  then  seldom 
permitted  to  enjoy. 

She  had  lived  in  Paris  in  the  days  when  Madame  Re- 
camier  was  the  first  beauty  of  France,  and  when  her  banker 
husband,  a  cipher  in  her  affairs,  saw  her  live  "the  life  of  a 
flirt  surrounded  by  fools."  But  undoubtedly  far  more  an 
object  of  her  admiration  was  the  career  of  ]\Iadame  de 
Stael.  She  had  some  reason  to  fancy  that  in  fondness  for 
the  society  of  intellectual  men,  in  her  independent  spirit  and 


THE  MAGNIFICENT  MADAM  RUSH  29 

her  defiance  of  conventionalities,  she  might  have  had  a  kin- 
ship with  the  daughter  of  Necker. 

When  she  came  back  to  Philadelphia  with  her  beautiful 
French  gowns,  the  chief  languages  of  Europe  at  her  com- 
mand, and  with  a  facility  for  lively  observations  on  litera- 
ture and  music,  she  attracted  no  little  attention  as  an  heiress. 
She  was  showy  and  ambitious,  with  a  boldness  of  manner 
which  was  not  always  relished  by  men  of  quiet  tastes ;  but 
her  fine  complexion  and  her  exuberance  of  health,  which 
she  shared  with  a  sister,  caused  the  girls  to  be  known  as  the 
"Antwerp  Strawberries." 

At  this  time  Dr.  James  Rush,  a  studious  young  physician, 
was  contemplating  a  distinguished  career  in  his  profession. 
A  son  of  the  famous  Dr.  Benjamin  Rush,  one  of  the  signers 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  and  brother  of  the  Rich- 
ard Rush  who  was  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  and  Secre- 
tary of  State  under  Monroe,  Secretary  of  the  Navy  under 
John  Quincy  Adams,  candidate  for  the  Vice-Presidency  in 
1828,  and  Minister  to  England  and  to  France,  he  had  come 
of  a  family  of  distinction.  She  seems  to  have  regarded  him 
as  a  man  of  letters  who  would  have  sympathies  with  her 
literary  and  social  ambition.  On  the  other  hand,  she  was 
likely  to  be  possessor  of  a  fortune  which  would  enable  him 
to  pursue  such  ambitions  as  he  then  meditated,  in  that  work 
which  afterward  gave  him  reputation  as  an  original  thinker 
— "The  Philosophy  of  the  Human  Voice."  In  1819,  when 
he  was  twenty-seven  and  she  twenty,  they  were  married,  and 
henceforth  their  lives  were  to  present  one  of  the  most  cu- 
rious chapters  in  the  annals  of  eccentric  wedlock. 

Gradually  the  doctor  began  to  betake  himself  more  and 
more  to  his  books,  and  his  wife,  with  her  masterful  will,  to 
the  pleasure  of  society.  She  would  open  in  Philadelphia 
a  salon  such  as  she  had  seen  in  Paris ;  she  would  reform  the 
absurb  conventionalities  she  saw  around  her ;  and  she  would 
lessen  the  stiffness  and  sombemess  of  that  social  life  which 
the  critical  Mrs.  Trollope  had  gently  satirized  in  her  ob- 
servations of  Philadelphia  character.  Her  parties,  her  con- 
versation, her  faculty  for  putting  men  at  their  ease  in  the 


30  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

drawing-room,  her  invitations  to  artists,  singers,  and  actors, 
and  to  beauties  whom  society  had  not  before  recognized, 
possibly  because  of  their  want  of  ancestry  or  their  want  of 
wealth,  were  looked  upon  askance. 

"What  is  that  Mrs.  Rush  coming  to?"  the  old  leaders  cried 
out.  "Ah !  she  is  an  upstart,  who  is  aping  foreign  airs  and 
trj'ing  to  Frenchify  us.  What  a  pity  it  is  that  the  good  doc- 
tor does  not  put  an  end  to  her  doings !"  The  more  they 
talked  of  her,  the  more  heartily  she  laughed  at  the  shocks 
they  sustained,  and  the  wider  grew  the  circle  of  her  guests. 
But  she  had  nearly  reached  middle  age  before  the  oppor- 
tunity came  to  her  to  show  fully  the  manner  of  woman  she 
was.  In  1843  hsr  father  died.  He  left  her  more  than  a 
million  dollars,  and  she  was  now  able  to  carry  out  her  am- 
bition to  reform  the  old  regime  and  ascend  the  social  throne. 
"We  should,"  she  said  to  her  friends,  "put  an  end  to  the 
rule  of  pretenders  like  Napoleon,  among  the  little  despots  of 
royalty,"  and  she  took  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  revolu- 
tionizing the  society  around  her,  with  its  strong  instinct  of 
ancestral  pride. 

Nor  was  she  wanting  in  the  qualifications  for  playmg  this 
role.  Her  mind  was  quick,  original,  assertive  ;  her  will,  mas- 
culine in  firmness ;  her  flow  of  high  spirits  unfailing ;  her 
conversation  astonishingly  fertile ;  and  her  generosity  lavish. 
She  could  so  engage  the  admiration  of  men  that  they  for- 
got her  homeliness  of  face  in  the  enjojTnent  of  her  com- 
radeship. But  at  a  time  when  it  was  still  the  fashion  to 
quote  Byron,  his  images  of  female  loveliness  were  more 
than  once  employed  by  gross  and  venal  flatterers  to  suggest 
her  charms.  The  fact  was  that  even  in  the  freshness  of  her 
youth  she  was  not  a  beauty,  and  the  only  likeness  of  her  now 
e.xtant  was  drawn  by  hands  more  courtly  than  exact.  Her 
forehead  was  high  and  broad,  as  if  it  incased  a  large  brain ; 
her  hair  was  abundant ;  her  complexion  rosy ;  her  nose  sug- 
gestive of  aspiration,  rather  than  of  taste ;  the  mouth  large, 
with  lines  of  humor  in  its  curves ;  the  figure  inclined  to 
embonpoint  that  afterward  became  enormous.  But  in  her 
dark,  bright,  frank,  daring,  yet  thoughtful  eyes,  was  the  one 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    MADAM   RUSH  31 

charm  which,  even  in  her  advancing  years,  redeemed  the 
ruddy  and  almost  plebeian  face.  She  had  a  self-possession 
which  no  sneer  could  daunt,  and  a  temper  which  no  enemy 
cared  to  brook  a  second  time. 

Mrs.  Rush  had  read  widely  and  intelligently ;  she  had 
some  acquaintance  with  most  of  the  chief  languages  of 
Europe ;  she  spoke  French  faultlessly,  and  while  she  was 
not  wanting  in  knowledge  of  the  fine  arts,  she  was,  indeed, 
a  fervent  lover  of  music.  She  especially  concerned  herself 
in  such  subjects  as  would  make  her  conversation  agreeable 
to  men.  She  had  her  set  hours  for  daily  study  up  to  the 
time  she  was  fifty.  Long  after  she  had  reached  the  summit 
of  social  leadership,  she  seldom  missed  a  day  in  the  prac- 
tise of  music  or  in  her  German  reading.  Her  taste  in  art 
was  not  always  elevated,  and  in  the  choice  of  pictures  was 
sometimes  indelicate.  Her  musical  culture  was  such  that, 
while  she  invited  Mario  and  Grisi  to  her  house,  when  one 
was  the  foremost  tenor  and  the  other  the  foremost  soprano 
of  European  opera,  she  did  not  hesitate  to  express  her  de- 
light at  the  negro  minstrels  whom  the  jolly  Sanford  made 
famous  in  the  days  of  the  Virginia  serenaders,  with  their 
"Lucy  Longs"  and  "Lovely  Nells."  She  cared  little  for 
women,  and  yet  gathered  around  her  such  a  circle  of  young 
beauties,  as  even  the  dazzling  Mrs.  Bingham  could  hardly 
have  surpassed  when  she  ruled  the  repubHcan  court  of 
Washington  and  Adams. 

In  the  decade  prior  to  1857,  her  daily  walks  on  Chestnut 
Street  were  one  of  the  most  picturesque  sights  of  Philadel- 
phia. "Here  comes  Madam !"  "Make  way  for  the  Madam  i" 
"Now  behold  the  royal  dress  parade!"  were  the  remarks  to 
be  heard  in  the  half -reverential  whispers  or  the  sardonic  gibes 
of  the  populace.  Regularly  as  the  clock  struck  the  hour 
of  high  noon,  she  emerged  from  her  mansion  attended  by  a 
pair  of  beaux  who  delighted  to  pay  her  the  homage  she 
exacted.  These  men  waited  upon  her  with  the  ceremonial 
etiquette  of  trained  courtiers.  The  one  was  sometimes  re- 
ferred to  in  the  parlance  of  the  town  as  her  Lord  Chamber- 
lain ;  the  other  as  her  chief  Lord-in-Waiting.     To  put  on 


33  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

her  gloves,  to  raise  her  parasol,  to  carry  her  wraps,  to  lead 
her  across  the  streets,  to  protect  her  from  the  rude  gaze 
of  the  curious — although  she  was  not  disposed  to  be  sensi- 
tive on  that  score — to  present  her,  to  dismiss,  at  the  sidewalk 
levees,  were  their  functions  on  the  promenade.  Persons 
who  were  possessed  of  a  humorous  turn  of  mind  were  wont 
to  compare  the  progress  to  one  of  the  famous  Cope  packets 
entering  the  Delaware  with  all  her  magnificent  canvas 
spread  to  the  breeze  and  beating  up  the  river  against  the 
tide. 

In  her  younger  days  those  walks  were  wholesome  "con- 
stitutionals," but  when  she  matured  into  portliness,  her  face 
ruddy  with  an  excess  of  blood,  she  persisted  in  wearing  the 
gayest  of  bonnets,  the  gaudiest  of  colors  and  the  most  ex- 
pansive of  crinoline.  "I  cannot  meet  in  my  house  every- 
body I  want  to  receive,"  she  would  say,  "and  it  saves  time 
to  meet  them  on  the  street."  Some  would  contrive  to  sa- 
lute her  on  her  route  every  day,  and  if  any  of  her  favor- 
ites missed  it  longer  than  a  week  she  was  pretty  certain  to 
remind  the  offender  of  his  neglect.  It  was  not  a  fashionable 
hour — indeed,  quite  the  reverse — that  she  chose  for  her 
entourage,  but  she  economized  her  time  in  her  own  way. 

One  of  her  first  "reforms"  was  to  break  down  the  ab- 
surdities of  the  "calling"  custom.  "You  ladies,"  she  ob- 
served in  her  authoritative  manner,  "waste  a  good  deal  of 
precious  time  in  paying  and  receiving  calls.  I  neither  visit 
nor  receive  visits  except  on  my  days."  And  generally  at  all 
other  hours  after  her  daily  walk,  when  no  reception  nor 
entertainment  was  to  take  place,  she  kept  herself  in  seclu- 
sion with  her  books  or  her  toilette. 

Her  summers  at  Saratoga  were  hardly  less  notable  than 
her  winters  in  Philadelphia.  At  a  time  when  Saratoga 
Springs  was  the  resort  of  every  woman  distinguished  in 
American  society,  Mrs.  Rush  was  foremost  among  the  lead- 
ers. There,  during  the  generation  before  the  war,  were  to 
be  seen  Madam  le  Vert,  the  Alabama  beauty,  of  whom  Irv- 
ing said  that  she  was  such  a  woman  as  occurs  but  once  in 
the  course  of  an  Empire,  and  who  was  widely  known  as  the 


THE    MAGNIFICENT    MADAM   RUSH  33 

"Magnolia  Flower  of  the  South ;"  Mrs.  Coventry  Waddell, 
to  whom  Thackeray,  when  he  visited  New  York,  paid  some 
of  his  choicest  compliments ;  the  stately  Mrs.  Harrison 
Gray  Otis,  whom  Boston  looked  upon  as  the  exemplar  of 
its  patriotic  womanhood,  and  whose  "Mount  Vernon  Ball," 
for  the  benefit  of  the  fund  with  which  the  women  of  Amer- 
ica purchased  the  home  and  tomb  of  Washington,  was  one 
of  the  most  brilliant  gatherings  ever  known  in  New  Eng- 
land ;  Mrs.  Schermerhorn,  whose  bal  costume  de  rigueur 
of  the  time  of  Louis  XV.,  with  its  fifty  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  gowns  and  half  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  jewels, 
startled  New  York  with  its  splendor,  and  was,  perhaps,  the 
first  of  the  great  fancy  balls  given  in  this  country ;  Mrs. 
Henry  Parish,  whose  lavish  entertainments  with  a  thousand 
guests  were  another  theme  of  wonder  to  the  New  York  of 
the  days  before  the  war ;  Miss  Emily  Marshal,  whose  coach 
was  usually  surrounded  by  crowds  eager  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  her  loveliness,  and  who  would  sometimes  pass  to  and  from 
her  hotel  through  a  lane  of  bystanders  waiting  to  gaze  upon 
her;  Mrs.  J.  J.  Roosevelt,  chief  among  the  dames  whose 
pride  was  the  Knickerbocker  traditions  of  their  Dutch  an- 
cestry; the  venerable  Mrs.  Renwick,  whose  eyes  in  her 
Scotch  childhood  charmed  Robert  Bums ;  the  Miss  Living- 
ston, afterward  Mrs.  Barton,  who  had  been  "the  belle  of 
Jackson's  administration;"  Mrs.  Preston,  wife  of  the  gifted 
orator  and  Senator  of  South  Carolina ;  the  radiant  Sallie 
Ward,  whose  tall  and  statuesque  figure  made  her  as  fa- 
mous among  Kentucky  women  as  Henry  Clay  had  been 
among  Kentucky  men ;  and  the  brilliant  Emily  Schaumburg, 
whose  lustrous  eyes  and  superb  carriage,  even  in  her  girl- 
hood, caused  the  young  Prince  of  Wales  to  level  his  lor- 
gnette upon  her  at  the  opera  in  Philadelphia,  and  to  remark 
to  one  of  his  companions  that  she  was  "the  most  beautiful 
woman  I  have  seen  in  America."  Such  are  some  of  the 
women  who  graced  Saratoga  during  the  thirty  years  when 
Mrs.  Rush  was,  perhaps,  its  most  lively  visitor. 

It  was  noticed  at  Saratoga  that  Mrs.  Rush  usually  dressed 
in  black,  leaving  most  of  her  elegant  gowns  at  home.     Her 


34  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

costumes  were  of  silk,  grenadine,  or  poplin,  and  her  follow- 
ers were  indeed  surprised  when  they  saw  her  arrive  with 
but  a  single  trunk  for  the  season.  But  one  night  she  aston- 
ished the  numerous  company  in  the  big  hotel  by  appearing 
with  a  mass  of  jewelry  around  her  neck  that  paled  the  blaze 
of  the  ballroom.  Upon  a  scarf  of  rich  and  delicate  lace  were 
clusters  of  diamonds,  whose  light,  it  was  said,  flashed  and 
sparkled  as  through  a  wreath  of  mist.  At  the  table  the  privi- 
lege of  sitting  near  her  was  eagerly  sought  for  by  those  who 
knew  the  social  value  of  her  favoring  smiles.  On  each  side 
of  her  she  reserved  one  or  more  chairs  for  the  gentlemen 
whose  conversation  she  enjoyed.  When  she  invited  a  young 
man  to  accept  a  place  at  her  table,  it  was  necessary  for  him 
to  promise  that  he  would  observe  two  conditions.  When  the 
promise  had  been  given  he  was  informed  of  his  obligations. 
"The  first,"  she  would  say,  "is,  that  whenever  you  may 
choose  to  order  any  dish  or  any  special  wine  for  yourself, 
you  will  under  no  circumstances  ask  me  to  eat  or  drink  of 
it;  the  second  is,  that  whenever  I  may  give  an  order  for 
a  delicacy,  and  shall  ask  you  to  partake  of  it,  you  will  not 
hesitate  to  comply  with  my  wish."  When  the  gentleman 
had  signified  his  fealty  by  an  unreserved  acceptance  of  these 
terms  he  was  permitted  to  appear  at  the  next  meal.  When 
the  time  came  for  him  to  leave,  his  successor  was  obliged 
to  make  the  same  pledge,  which  was  invariably  exacted  and 
rigidly  enforced  upon  all  her  courtiers  at  the  table. 

Mrs.  Rush  began  to  reach  the  zenith  of  her  fame  as  a 
social  sovereign  when,  in  1850,  she  opened  a  mansion  in 
Philadelphia  which  she  had  caused  to  be  built  expressly  for 
balls  and  large  entertainments.  It  was  located  on  Chestnut 
Street,  between  Nineteenth  and  Twentieth  Streets,  the  house 
now  being  a  part  of  the  Aldine  Hotel.  Externally  the  archi- 
tecture of  the  mansion  was  even  then  somewhat  "old-fash- 
ioned." But  as  many  as  eight  hundred  guests  could  be  ac- 
commodated within  its  walls  on  festal  occasions.  The  large 
rooms,  the  rich  hangings,  the  French  furniture,  the  beauti- 
ful conservatory,  and  the  dining-room  with  its  twenty-five 
tables,  caused  the  interior  to  be  compared  to  a  European 


THE  MAGNIFICENT  MADAM  RUSH  35 

palace.  The  suite  of  receiving-rooms — the  Armorial,  the 
Crusaders,  the  Marie  Antoinette,  the  Blue  and  Crimson — 
were  the  choicest  examples  of  the  day  in  household  luxury. 
It  was  said  that  on  the  furniture  imported  from  France,  not 
less  than  sixty  thousand  dollars  had  been  paid  in  duties. 
"Oh,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  Rush  said,  when  she  was  told  that 
she  should  have  encouraged  American  artisans,  "we  shall 
never  know  the  art  of  living  until  we  acquire  the  best  tastes 
of  the  French.  I  do  my  country  a  service  in  bringing  into 
it  French  ideas.  Why!  Should  we  not  have  good  things, 
simply  because  they  are  foreign  ?  We  must  get  rid  of  these 
narrow  notions,  my  dear ;  we  must  get  rid  of  them." 

To  the  exquisite  Nathaniel  P.  Willis,  the  poet  and  critic, 
was  credited  the  remark  that  he  had  seen  nothing  in  the 
best  houses  of  England,  where  he  had  passed  much  time, 
which  equaled  the  display  at  the  Rush  mansion. 

What  the  Vanderbilt  and  the  Bradley-Martin  balls  have 
been  in  the  recent  times  to  the  whole  country,  as  crowning 
events  of  social  splendor,  so  were  the  Rush  balls  in  the  early 
fifties.  In  her  dining-room  two  hundred  and  fifty  guests 
would  sit  down  at  a  time  on  cushioned  seats  of  blue  damask, 
the  tables  shining  with  rare  china  and  solid  gold  plate,  while 
rows  of  servants,  wearing  blue  ribbons,  kept  guard  at  the 
doors.  The  skill  of  the  cleverest  caterers  in  the  country 
was  taxed  to  provide  novelties  for  the  table.  Nothing 
pleased  the  hostess  more  on  one  of  these  occasions,  than  the 
surprise  of  her  guests  at  beholding  peacocks  that  had  been 
carefully  roasted  with  all  their  magnificent  plumage.  The 
colored  lamps  in  the  garden  and  the  gentle  glow  of  six 
thousand  wax  candles  in  the  ballroom  shed  light  upon  the 
scene.  But  fifty  young  men  with  the  qualifications  of  good 
beaux,  and  dancing  well ;  fifty  pretty  girls  without  money, 
but  respectable,  well  dressed,  lively  and  charming — these, 
according  to  the  hostess,  "were  always  indispensable,"  and 
next  to  them  the  best  music  that  could  be  had,  and  the  finest 
supper  in  the  world. 

The  most  trusted  of  her  aides-de-camp  was  Charles  Wells. 
Tall,  slender,  graceful,  erect — indeed,  it  was  whispered  that 


36  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

he  wore  corsets — he  had  the  fine  bearing  of  both  the  sol- 
dier and  the  chib  man.  He  was  probably  a  dozen  years 
younger  than  Mrs.  Rush,  who,  it  is  said,  once  described  him 
as  "the  handsomest  man  she  ever  knew."  On  this  question 
there  was  such  a  rivalry  between  Wells  and  the  "Count" 
White  that  there  might  at  one  time  have  been  a  duel  be- 
tween the  pair  had  she  not  intervened  and  restored  them  to 
good  order  as  the  chiefs  of  her  social  cabinet.  Both  were 
members  of  the  ancient  City  Troop  of  Philadelphia,  and  of 
that  club  which  has  existed  through  most  of  the  century, 
and  is  still,  perhaps,  the  most  exclusive  in  the  country — the 
Philadelphia  Club.  Such  was  the  influence  of  Wells  for 
some  years  in  the  Rush  salon,  that  men  looked  up  to  him  as 
their  model  in  dress  and  in  manner.  His  dictum  in  all  such 
affairs  was  received  with  a  deference  that  was  indeed  not 
unlike  that  which  was  paid  in  New  York  City  to  the  utter- 
ances of  the  late  Mr.  Ward  McAllister. 

As  for  Dr.  Rush,  he  had  long  ago  ceased  to  give  himself 
any  concern  over  the  ceremonial  devotion  to  his  wife  of 
these  and  other  courtiers  in  her  train  of  attendants.  One 
of  her  guests  at  a  ball,  upon  one  occasion  having  observed 
through  a  partly  open  door,  the  doctor  in  his  study,  and  not 
knowing  either  him  or  the  menage  of  the  Rush  household, 
inquired  of  her :  "Who  is  that  old  man  alone  in  the  li- 
brary?" "Oh!"  was  the  reply,  "he  is  our  hermit,  and  he 
likes  his  books  better  than  he  does  us.  But  he  shall  be  to 
bed,  I  warrant  you,  before  the  dancing  begins." 

If  the  doctor  did  not  like  the  gayety  under  his  roof-tree, 
he  seems  seldom  to  have  manifested  his  displeasure  openly. 
Such  remarks  as  he  did  make  about  his  wife  were  not  un- 
complimentary. "You  ought  to  be  a  happy  man,"  said  a 
lady  after  looking  over  the  fine  conservatory.  "Thanks, 
madam,"  he  said ;  "I  have  always  been  a  happy  man."  Peo- 
ple of  fashion  referred  to  him  as  a  good  old  fellow  whom 
everybody  respected,  but  nobody  cared  to  meet. 

Scandal  about  herself,  Mrs.  Rush  disposed  of  by  ex- 
claiming: "Pshaw!  it's  only  the  neat  fabrication  of  a  keen 
woman.      Let   us   hear   no    more    of   it."     Scandal    about 


THE  MAGNIFICENT  MADAM  RUSH  37 

others  she  would  crush  with  a  merciless  hand,  and  no  leader 
of  society  could  more  quickly  bring  married  couples  to  their 
senses,  when  jealousy  or  gossip  was  at  work,  and  reconcile 
them  by  the  sheer  force  of  her  hearty,  authoritative  com- 
mand. 

Indeed,  she  was  a  difficult  character  to  understand  in  her 
seeming  inconsistencies.  In  her  ballroom  she  would  appear, 
for  instance,  in  Genoa  velvet  and  lace,  set  off  with  jewels, 
feathers  of  rare  plumage  drooping  from  her  hair,  and  a  fan 
of  rich  colors  in  her  hand,  ornamented  with  a  bird  of  para- 
dise whose  eyes  were  diamonds  and  whose  claws  were 
rubies.  At  another  ball  she  startled  the  company  by  wear- 
ing a  dress  of  spun  glass.  In  a  single  dry  goods  shop  in 
Philadelphia  she  spent  fifteen  thousand  dollars  in  a  year, 
at  a  time  when  such  a  bill  was  a  gross  extravagance.  Her 
apparel  was  often  chosen  with  a  disregard  of  every  law  of 
taste  and  propriety.  Yet  she  delighted  in  the  company  of 
intellectual  men,  and  Edward  Everett,  John  Sergeant, 
George  Bancroft,  George  M.  Dallas,  and  J.  Fenimore  Coop- 
er were  types  of  the  men  who  visited  her  salon. 

Then,  too,  many  young  men  like  Longfellow,  with  his 
early  poetry,  and  Joseph  Leidy,  the  naturalist,  had  a 
good  word  from  her  warm  heart,  with  often  her  helping 
hand.  "When  she  visited  England  in  1845,  while  Everett 
was  Minister,  it  was  remarked  that  her  accomplished  broth- 
er-in-law, Richard  Rush,  had  held  the  same  place,  and  that 
his  dashmg  sister-in-law  could  have  represented  her  coun- 
trymen at  the  Court  of  St.  James  with  not  less  grace.  So 
ready  and  fluent  was  her  talk,  that  one  of  her  intimates  said 
that  he  had  never  known  her  to  be  under  the  necessity  of 
falling  back  on  "the  weather"  as  a  theme  for  either  intro- 
ducing or  sustaining  a  conversation.  She  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  Washington  Irving,  and  thought  his  prose 
was  a  model  of  style.  Her  "Saturday  mornings"  were  noted 
for  brilliancy  of  talk.  In  young  artists  and  authors  she  in- 
spired an  affectionate  reverence,  and  some  old  men  now 
take  off  their  hats  in  sincere  tribute  to  the  memory  of  one 


134352 


38  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

who,  as  they  say,  had  "the  intellect  of  a  Queen  in  the  body 
of  Dinah  Shadd." 

One  night  in  the  winter  of  1857  the  Rush  mansion  was 
in  a  blaze  of  revelry.  The  guests  declared  that  the  hostess 
had  surprised  herself.  Radiant  with  diamonds,  she  had 
seldom  been  more  gorgeous,  even  now  that  the  marks  of 
age  were  coming  thick  upon  her.  It  was  daylight  before 
the  last  carriage  had  rolled  away  and  Mrs.  Rush  retired  to 
her  room,  placing  her  jewels  in  open  caskets  lying  on  a 
table.  It  was  late  in  the  day  before  she  arose ;  she  was  still 
fatigued,  and  after  a  luncheon  she  went  to  bed  again  early 
in  the  evening.  During  the  night  she  heard  noises ;  her 
husband,  in  a  communicating  room,  also  heard  them,  but 
each  supposed  that  the  other  was  closing  a  door  of  the 
apartments.  When  awakened  in  the  morning  she  went  to 
a  drawer  of  a  bureau  containing  a  thousand  dollars  in  gold 
coin,  to  obtain  what  she  needed  for  the  payment  of  the 
weekly  bills  of  her  household.  She  was  startled  to  find  that 
the  drawer  had  been  rifled  of  the  specie.  She  turned  to  the 
table  where  she  had  left  her  caskets  of  precious  stones,  and 
they,  too,  were  gone.  Then  she  summoned  Dr.  Rush,  who 
bade  her  give  no  alarm  until  a  detective  had  examined  the 
house.  No  marks  of  a  burglar  or  of  a  violent  entrance  could 
be  found.  The  servants  in  the  house  were  searched  in  vain. 
In  the  snow  that  had  fallen  on  the  night  before  could  be 
detected  no  footprints.  It  may  be  observed,  however,  that 
there  were  other  versions  of  the  mystery. 

The  suspicions  of  Mrs.  Rush  fell,  or  at  least  seemed  to 
fall,  upon  a  woman,  her  cook,  who  was  soon  to  be  married 
to  a  jeweler  in  the  South,  but  the  police  declined  to  arrest 
her.  In  the  meantime  "The  Big  Diamond  Robbery,"  or 
"The  Mystery  of  the  Rush  Jewels,"  became  noised  through 
the  country.  The  police  of  Philadelphia  and  New  York 
watched  or  traced  the  movements  of  every  guest  at  the  ball 
whose  character  might  justify  distrust.  But  the  mystery 
was  never  wholly  cleared.  Mrs.  Rush  seemed  inclined  to 
believe  that  her  cook  was  the  thief;  the  doctor  expressed 
a  similar  opinion ;  but  it  was  generally  believed — ^and  it  be- 


THE  MAGNIFICENT  MADAM  RUSH  39 

came  in  after  years  an  open  secret — that  the  real  culprit  was 
one  of  the  gallant  young  courtiers  of  her  promenades,  and 
that  he  was  allowed  to  go  to  Europe  rather  than  suffer  the 
disgrace  of  publicity.  He  had  carried  away  on  the  memo- 
rable night  more  than  twenty-three  thousand  dollars'  worth 
of  jewelry  and  cash.  Mrs.  Rush  was  not  quite  the  same 
woman  afterward  ;  the  robbery  threw  a  shadow  on  her  social 
glory,  and  the  ball  proved  to  be  the  last  of  her  fetes. 

A  few  months  afterward  she  went  to  Saratoga.  It  was 
plain  that  while  her  spirits  were  still  gay  her  physical 
strength  was  breaking.  A  complication  of  diseases,  chief  of 
which  was  erysipelas,  had  begun  to  lay  siege  to  her  system. 
She  declined  to  hear  the  warning  of  her  friends  when  the 
season  came  to  a  close.  She  said  that  she  was  troubled 
with  an  indisposition  that  would  soon  disappear,  and  that 
she  would  remain  with  her  maid.  As  the  autumn  days  went 
by  they  found  themselves  the  only  inmates  of  the  huge 
United  States  Hotel,  except  its  clerks  and  servants.  It  was 
found  that  Mrs.  Rush  could  not  be  moved  from  Saratoga 
without  risk,  and  she  was  loath  to  have  any  one  see  her  in 
the  midst  of  her  suiTering.  Finally,  it  was  decided  that  Dr. 
Rush  should  be  sent  for.  The  gentle,  strange  old  man  was 
soon  at  the  bedside.  But  it  was  too  late.  His  wife  was  too 
weak  to  be  moved,  and  on  October  23,  1857,  her  daring, 
restless  spirit  passed  away  in  the  hotel  which  had  been  the 
scene  of  many  a  summer  gayety  in  her  long  career  of  pleas- 
ure. 

The  doctor  survived  his  wife  twelve  years,  living  in  the 
loneliness  of  the  deserted  mansion,  and  being  seldom  seen 
outside  its  walls.  He  had  long  before  been  disappointed 
over  the  failure  of  the  world  to  accord  to  his  abilities  a  more 
generous  estimate.  His  will  caused  a  profound  stir.  It 
provided  for  the  establishment  in  his  native  city  of  a  li- 
brary for  scholars.  From  it  he  ordered  that  all  fiction  should 
be  excluded,  and  also  newspapers,  which  in  his  judgment 
were  "vehicles  of  disjointed  thinking."  A  library  building, 
after  the  model  of  a  Doric  temple,  was  erected  at  the  cost  of 
a  million  dollars.     He  had  directed  that  it  should  take  its 


40  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

title  from  the  maiden  name  of  her  whose  fortune,  as  it  came 
to  him,  he  had  bestowed  upon  it. 

The  Ridgway  Library  became  also  their  mausoleum. 
There,  beneath  a  plain  slab  and  surrounded  by  the  richest 
treasures  of  literature,  the  halls  echoing  only  the  quiet  foot- 
steps or  the  whispers  of  scholars,  lie  the  ashes  of  the  good 
doctor,  and  by  his  side  all  that  remains  of  the  dame  who  as- 
pired to  be  "Queen  of  American  Society." 

William  Perrine. 


o 


PROMISES 

NCE  when  I  was  very  sick, 
And  doctor  thought  I'd  die, 
i_Hff|*l    And  mother  couldn't  smile  at  me 
f^i|{lj^         But  it  just  turned  to  cry, 
^BmBOf    jhat  was  the  time  for  promises; 

"V^ou  should  have  heard  them  tell 
The  lots  of  good  things  I  could  have, 
If  I'd  get  well. 

But  when  the  fever  went  away, 

And  I  began  to  mend. 
And  begged  to  eat  the  goodies 

That  Grandma  Brown  would  send, 
They  said  beef-tea  was  better. 

And  gave  my  grapes  to  Nell, 
And  laughed  and  said ;  "You're  mighty  cross 
Since  you  got  well." 

Augusta  Kortrecht. 


41 


THE  DOCTOR'S  RELATIVES 

Father  mine  is  a   silver  birch-tree, 
Mother  mine  is  a  summer  cloud, 
Brother  mine  is  the  rye  so  golden, 
Sister  mine  is  the  sickle  moon, 
Spring  and  fall  and  summer  weather, 
I  am  lonely  as  the  heather 
There  I  sing,  and  sing,  and  sing. 


TOPELIUS. 


H-  E  was  hunting  through  the  Minnesota  hills  for  some 
members  of  the  Silverstar  family,  lost  for  years. 
Not  that  he  was  known  by  that  luminous  name,  for 
deciding,  while  a  penniless  emigrant,  not  to  shine 
with  a  tarnished  aristocratic  heritage,  he  merged  himself 
into  another  Nelson — Axel  Nelson — greatly  to  the  disgust 
of  his  Silfverstjerna  kin  in  Sweden. 

He  had  seen  but  little  of  his  countrymen  in  America,  hav- 
ing been  too  busy  to  disport  himself  on  questions  of  na- 
tionality. But  here,  among  the  Mississippi  bluffs,  he  found 
a  bit  of  peasant  Sweden,  and  the  doctor  was  delighted.  Lit- 
tle did  the  settlers,  eying  the  man  with  the  silk  umbrella,  sus- 
pect the  kindly,  almost  enthusiastic  feelings  he  felt  at  every 
long-drawn  greeting  in  the  dear  old  tongue.  The  clean- 
scoured  log-houses,  the  women's  checked  head-cloths,  the 
hive-shaped  piles  of  winter  wood,  the  bang  of  the  looms, 
well-nigh  transported  him. 

At  one  place  where  the  rail  fences  ran  far  up  the  hillsides, 
where  the  stumps  were  grubbed  out,  where  the  tinkle  of 
bells  led  many  sheep,  he  introduced  himself  as  a  hungry 
Swede.  The  effect  was  magical,  and  long  did  he  remember 
that  dinner.  How  he  feasted  on  the  thin  bread  cakes,  dried 
on  a  pole  among  the  rafters;  how  delicately  flavored  was 
that  indescribable  dish,  ost  kaka — a  rennet  custard  served 
with  cinnamon  and  cream.     At  some  such  hospitable  cabin 

42 


THE  DOCTOR'S  RELATIVES  43 

he  would,  perhaps,  discover  his  relatives.     So  he  fancied. 

But  a  mysterious  surprise  prevailed  when  he  inquired  for 
the  Swensons — Johannes  Swenson.  Undoubtedly,  his  host 
reflected,  the  stranger  held  the  mortgage. 

Doctor  Axel  marveled,  as  he  took  the  indicated  way,  that 
such  a  dilapidated,  washed-out,  cracked,  thistle-grown  .road 
could  be  found  in  young  Minnesota.  It  might  have  been 
an  antediluvian  trail,  growing  thistles  ever  since  those  first 
ones  in  Genesis.  He  seemed  entering  an  enchanted  region 
of  weeds  and  haze.  It  was  one  of  the  rare  Indian  summer 
days  that  sometimes  linger  till  late  November,  when  all  the 
Minnesota  hills  are  ethereally  blue  and  divinely  mysterious. 

Up  another  "coolee,"  and  he  gained  a  view  of  the  great 
river,  a  view  granted  only  by  leafless  fall.  Through  the  bare 
swamp  forests  flashed  the  water,  like  a  revelation.  In  among 
the  vast  reaches  of  yellow  marsh  grass  coursed  the  devious 
channels,  all  a  dazzling  Minnesota  blue.  Forgotten,  van- 
ished, the  dainty  differences  of  green  that  tinted  the  August 
river ;  now  it  emblazons  the  Indian  summer  islands  with  a 
runic  scroll  text  in  blue  and  gold. 

The  house  was  in  sight ;  a  lamentable  log-cabin  in  a  small 
clearing  where  the  primeval  stumps  were  thick.  The  sod 
roof  bore  weeds,  tall  and  many,  that  waved  above  the  white- 
washed door.  A  gay  pile  of  pumpkins  relieved  one  wall,  and 
a  dog  of  somewhat  paler  cast  attacked  the  doctor's  heels. 

He  knocked.    Was  Silfverstjerna  blood  here? 

No  response.  Pushing  open,  he  saw  a  stack  of  dry  beans 
and  a  flail.  Then  from  a  dark,  inner  room,  hobbled  a  tiny, 
gray,  decrepit  woman  swathed  in  coarse  rags ;  on  her  face 
fear,  in  her  hand  a  tattered  catechism.  On  the  tip  of  her 
•wrinkled  nose  rested  verdigris-rimmed  spectacles,  and  stiff, 
short  hair,  emphasized  her  uncanny  look. 

"Who's  there?"  she  whispered,  waving  the  book.  "Be  it 
the  land  you're  after?    Deliver  us  from  the  wicked." 

Her  dialect  betrayed  signs  of  good  Swedish,  of  the  clear- 
cut  Stockholm  accent,  but  the  doctor  quaked  as  he  reflected 
that  he  was  related  by  the  female  line.  Bravely,  however,  he 
announced  himself  as  Silfverstjerna. 


44  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"Silfverstjerna?"  she  screamed,  flying  at  him.  "The  Bar- 
on's son,  my  cousin's  son?" 

He  was  the  cousin's  grandson,  but  her  emotion  was  nowise 
abated. 

"Axelina!  Ax-el-in-a!"  she  called.  "Where's  the  young 
'un?  I  might  fall  down  this  hill  like  last  summer,  when  I 
rolled  into  the  slough.  Axelina.  It  was  a  witch-shot,"  she 
hoarsely  explained,  clasping  the  talismanic  book  to  her  old 
superstitious  breast.     "A  witch-shot." 

The  doctor  found  Axelina  under  a  tree,  dark  and  unre- 
sponsive as  the  hill  behind  her.  Over  her  chemise  was  but- 
toned a  dark-blue  skirt,  and  the  tangle  of  black  hair  fell  over 
bare  shoulders.  The  last  scarlet  sumach  leaf  was  no  redder 
than  her  cheeks,  but  utter  lack  of  animation  almost  can- 
celed their  brilliancy.  Motionless  she  sat,  watching  a  cater- 
pillar crawl  up  her  bare  arm. 

Virtually  she  was  a  pagan,  a  Minnesota  pagan,  a  little 
distorted,  perverted  Lutheran,  confirmed  though  she  had 
been,  drilled  in  churchly  creed  and  code.  Fireflies  were  her 
kin,  water  nixies  she  had  spoken  with.  At  this  moment 
she  was  waiting  to  see  the  worm  turn  into  an  angel  and 
carry  her  off  beyond  the  purple  line  of  the  farthest  Minne- 
sota hill,  by  the  last  silver  glimpse  of  the  Mississippi,  to 
give  her  clothes  and  folks  like  other  girls. 

A  sudden  courtesy  and  a  silent  stare  returned  the 
stranger's  greeting  as  she  finally  stirred  to  the  frantic  sum- 
mons to  "Go  an'  fetch  Johannes  from  the  fencin'." 

Her  uncle  this  was,  of  plebeian  extraction. 

As  she  ran  off  into  the  copse,  the  doctor  followed  across 
the  clearing,  where  rye  had  grown  among  the  black  stumps. 
His  namesake  stopped  on  the  steep  brink  of  the  creek,  and 
he  wondered  if  she  got  that  wonderful  color  from  the  Polish 
countess  who  married  into  their  ancestral  family  during 
the  Thirty  Years'  war,  or  from  this  glorious,  exhilarating 
Minnesota  air. 

She  stopped  and  gave  a  shrill  whistle.  A  flap  and  rus- 
tle in  the  water  below  responded,  and  straight  up  the  cliff 
flew  a  solitary  goose,  alighting  in  evident  delight  at  Axel- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  RELATIVES  45 

ina's  feet.  She  cast  on  the  fine  interloper  a  silent  triumphant 
look,  gainsaying  abject  misery,  petted  her  bird,  and  led  into 
the  untouched  forest. 

In  a  bush-hidden  cave  off  the  precipitous  ravine,  the  un- 
kempt, meager  Johannes  was  making  whisky.  (That  is, 
fencin'.)  His  apparatus  was  ridiculously  small,  but  his  en- 
joyment of  inverse  proportions.  These  pans,  screws,  pails, 
and  tin  cups,  were  all  he  cared  for  in  the  entire  universe, 
and  he  could  have  thrown  Axelina  over  the  bluff  for  bring- 
ing this  man  here.  But  the  doctor,  tingling  with  adventure, 
greeted  him  effusively,  said  he  had  come  hundreds  of  miles 
to  see  him,  and  was  his  cousin — (reveling  in  the  admission). 
Johannes  subsided  into  a  garrulous  boon-companion,  urging 
the  doctor  to  remain  with  them  indefinitely,  and  bestowed 
upon  him  an  extravagant  dose  of  Minnesota  moonshine, 
scorched  and  burnt  into  the  flavor  of  all  the  spices  of 
Cathay. 

Axelina  was  back  at  the  creek,  having  decided  that  the 
Indian  summer  water  was  warm  enough  for  a  bath.  On  hot 
days,  how  they  luxuriated  in  the  water,  girl  and  bird,  chas- 
ing each  other  up  and  down  stream.  The  goose  would  beat 
the  water  into  milky  effervescence  while  Axelina,  from  her 
cracked,  rusty  cup,  poured  the  silver  coolness  down  her 
arms.  In  pure  luxury  of  existence  she  often  lay  asleep  un- 
der the  black  haws,  her  arm  thrown  over  the  bank,  where, 
through  her  fingers,  the  water  raveled  out  a  lullaby. 

Once  she  took  a  moonlight  bath  to  see  the  trolls  and  elves, 
against  which  her  grandmother  so  vehemently  prayed.  And 
she  was  satisfied  that  white  draperies  trailed  through  the 
dewy  bushes ;  that  the  star,  down,  down  in  the  water, 
sparkled  on  the  brow  of  a  spirit.  She  was  enraptured  to 
have  seen  it. 

3^C  ^  ^  ^  3f£ 

The  doctor  was  snowed  ia  for  a  month.  Minnesota  No- 
vembers cannot  be  trusted,  and  for  decades  the  witching 
Indian  summer  had  not  loitered  so  long  or  lovingly  among 
these  hills. 

The  first  night  he  was  awakened  by  fingers  feeling  over 


46  THE  DOCTORS   DOMICILE 

his  face.  Starting  up,  he  saw  the  witch-like  hag  holding  a 
candle  high  over  her  gray  head,  and  heard  her  mutter, 
"Baron  S.,  Baron  S.,"  ere  she  screamed  and  fled  at  his 
voice.  At  four  every  frozen  morning  his  vacation  slumbers 
were  attuned  to  Johannes's  bean-flail.  Johannes,  in  fact, 
seemed  to  have  a  peculiar  disinclination  to  work  at  any  other 
hour. 

This  enforced  leisure  was  likely  to  be  ruinous  to  a  man 
of  his  moderate  means,  but  the  hill  had  turned  white  and 
slippery,  awe-inspiring  to  contemplate.  He  was  isolated  on 
an  impassable  glacier,  scarred  and  scraped  by  the  howling 
storms  and  cutting  sleet. 

Axelina  was  a  curious  study;  shy  and  sullen.  It  was  re- 
markable that  a  child  could  be  so  apathetic  to  her  own  mis- 
ery, so  unresponsive  to  kindness.  Yet  he  felt  a  magnetism 
in  the  girl ;  he  called  it  pity. 

But  when,  the  roads  being  opened  a  few  days  before 
Christmas,  he  prepared  to  go,  she  revealed  herself  like  the 
flash  of  a  sword  from  the  sheath.  Clinging  to  his  arm,  she 
wildly  entreated  him  to  stay  over  Christmas.  She  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  him,  saying  he  should  stay.  He  was  amazed,  con- 
founded, but  won  over,  to  his  own  surprise. 

So  here  he  was,  astonishing  the  settlement  store  by  his 
purchases,  and  helping  the  poor  child  cook  and  clean,  while 
Johannes  provided  a  festive  surplus  of  beans.  The  girl,  in 
truth,  had  a  knack,  and  a  zealous  one,  for  scrubbing,  about 
the  only  thing  her  housekeeping  conditions  left  scope  for. 
She  scoured  the  old  boards  out  around  the  door,  the  benches, 
the  table,  the  walls,  with  rush  bundles  of  her  own  gathering, 
and  it  gave  a  sense  of  good  living  to  the  hovel.  Had  it  not 
been  for  her,  the  weeds  would  undoubtedly  have  grown  as 
tall  on  the  hearth-stone  as  they  did  on  the  roof. 

The  day  before  Christmas,  the  doctor  heard  sobs  in  the 
bean-shanty,  and  found  Axelina  unflinchingly  plucking  her 
dear  beloved  goose,  which  she  herself  had  killed.  Though 
aghast  at  this  inferred  compliment  to  his  presence,  he  did 
not  imagine  how  much  it  meant. 

"Oh,  Axelina,  you  ought  not  to  have  killed  it." 


THE  DOCTOR'S  RELATIVES  47 

Her  tears  streamed  on  the  downy  breast  as  she  petted  it, 
but  her  voice  flashed  out: 

"I  wouldn't  leave  it  to  them.  You  see,"  she  explained,  in 
a  tone  that  carried  conviction  to  the  listener,  "I'm  goin'  home 
with  you." 

He  had  planned  to  give  her  dresses  and  shoes,  but  she  ev- 
idently  went  further. 

"Why,  child,  I  don't  see—" 

She  was  unmoved  by  his  misgivings. 

"I  kin  go,  an'  I  be  goin'.  Does  you  think  I  kin  live  here 
a  bit  longer?  Will  you  whip  me  if  I  goes?  You  doesn't 
need  to  take  me,  I'll  just  foller.  If  you  does  whip  me,  I'll 
foller  anyhow." 

He  caught  his  breath.  Was  such  fire  in  her  heart?  The 
dark  eyes  glowed,  carmine  spots  came  and  went  in  her 
cheeks,  but  the  curved  mouth  was  inflexible.  The  miserable 
cabin  seemed  indeed  too  poor  to  cage  her.  Rolling  up  her 
sleeve,  she  showed  a  long  blue  mark,  saying  scornfully : 

"Johannes  hit  me  there.  If  you  hit  me  like  that,  I'll  foller 
anyhow." 

She  was  more  lovely  and  wonderful  than  the  aurora  bore- 
alis,  flashing  its  crimson  banners  in  the  winter  nights. 

Tears  filled  his  heart  and  he  drew  the  quivering  girl  to 
his  side,  impulsively  kissing  her  red,  red  mouth. 

"Poor  little  Axelina,  I  will  take  care  of  you." 

She  was  his  only  Christmas  present.  The  angel  had  come. 
*  4:  *  *  * 

The  great  open  fire  gave  semblance  of  cheer  to  Christmas 
Eve  in  the  poor  cabin,  really  very  clean ;  and  there  was  quite 
a  supper,  including  the  regulation  rice  mush,  plus  cin- 
namon. 

The  doctor  heaved  birch-logs  into  the  chimney  and  won- 
dered how  to  announce  Axelina's  departure.  She  fore- 
stalled him,  however,  by  simply  telling  them  she  was  going 
away.  Johannes  was  calm,  stupefied  you  might  say,  having 
waded  the  drifts  to  his  cave,  and  imbibed  a  sling  of  good 
nature.  But  the  frantic  grandmother  became  a  raving  incar- 
nation of  wrath.    She  shrieked,  waved  her  catechism,  and 


48  THE   DOCTOR'S    DOMICILE 

cursed  the  child.  The  indignant  doctor  stepped  sternly  for- 
ward, but  Axelina  motioned  him  oflF.  Fixing  her  luminous 
eyes  on  the  old  woman,  she  trilled  out  a  quick  strain  like 
the  call  of  a  wild  bird,  and  then,  after  a  brief  pause,  sang. 

The  doctor  stood  entranced  by  her  voice.  It  held  the 
sweet  sound  of  the  Minnesota  Junes,  and  the  mournfulness 
of  the  whippoorwills.  It  rose  and  fell  in  minors  of  an  old 
folk  ballad,  and  gushed  forth  in  the  tender,  passionate 
Swedish  words. 

The  expression  and  pathos  betrayed  her  imagination.  And 
indeed,  at  the  moment,  the  song  was  her  real  life.  While  she 
exorcised  the  demented  woman,  she  herself  grew  almost  un- 
conscious of  her  surroundings  in  the  rapture  of  singing. 
But  when  the  song  had  quieted  the  poor  old  grandmother, 
Axelina,  slender  child,  picked  her  up  and  carried  her  to  bed 
with  a  last  mournful  refrain — to  the  hard,  ragged  bed,  the 
one-time  beauty  who  had  danced  with  barons. 

They  were  the  offscouring  of  the  settlement;  the  one 
house  where  was  no  thrift,  no  store  of  food,  no  wheel,  no 
loom.  Yet  both  Johannes  and  the  old  woman  always  went 
to  church  on  Christmas  morning. 

The  doctor  could  not  sleep  that  night  for  carolings  of  the 
young  Christmas  voice,  and  he  was  very  glad  for  Johannes's 
three  o'clock  summons.  Service  began  at  five,  and  four 
miles  to  go. 

Dust  was  blown  off  the  hymn-books.  Johannes  wildly 
tore  the  autumn  snarls  out  of  his  hair  with  a  ferocious,  semi- 
toothless,  Swedish  brass  comb.  The  old  woman,  wrapped 
and  rolled  in  quilts,  was  packed  into  a  blue  box-sled  which 
Dr.  Axel  gallantly  drew  down  the  steep,  treacherous  ice- 
hill,  around  formidable  frozen  curves,  and  through  the  dark, 
crackling,  frozen  forest.  She,  meantime,  muttered  and  mum- 
bled prayers  and  petitions  against  every  evil  she  ever  feared. 

Over  the  long  line  of  snowy  Mississippi  bluffs  glittered  .1 
play  of  northern  lights,  yellow  and  pink.  Down  through  the 
settlement,  lanterns  twinkled  and  shone  on  every  hill-path, 
near  and  far,  converging  to  a  focus  at  the  little  log  church. 

There  the   fur-coated  men  and  sheepskin-robed  women 


THE  DOCTOR'S  RELATIVES  49 

found  a  red-hot  stove  to  greet  them.  (For  they  did  not  im- 
port the  old  Swedish  regime  of  freezing  to  death  in  church.) 
Afar  shone  the  Httle  temple,  for  it  was  all  illuminated  by 
candles  in  the  windows,  candles  on  the  pulpit,  candles  in 
the  seat  backs,  candles  in  a  festive,  frivolous,  straw-trimmed 
chandelier  above  the  altar.  A  black  tablet  announced  the 
hymns  in  polished  brass  numbers,  and  hours  before  sunrise, 
in  the  heart  of  the  frozen  Minnesota  woods,  a  churchful 
of  people  rose  to  sing  No.  55  in  the  Lutheran  Psalter, 
Bishop  Wallin's  immortal  hymn  that  every  Christmas  morn- 
ing ascends  in  praise  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic : 

Hail,  hail,   thou   beauteous  morning  hour, 
That  by  the  prophet's  holy  power. 
To  mortal  sight  was  given. 

The  doctor  recalled  it  from  childhood  and  sang,  all  the 
while  conscious  of  a  soprano  over  on  the  woman's  side  that 
led  the  congregation  like  the  motif  of  a  Christmas  symphony 
— Axelina's  voice. 

She  wore  a  queer  little  muskrat  cap  with  a  fur  tail  bobbing 
down  her  neck,  and,  with  hands  clasped  behind  her,  sang  all 
the  long  stanzas  by  heart. 

Instructed  in  the  catechism  and  inscribed  in  the  archives, 
she,  nevertheless,  held  a  cordial  disrespect  for  church  and 
clergyman — to  be  deprecated,  but  not  wondered  at.  The 
season  of  confirmation  had  not  been  happy.  Valfrid,  with 
applause,  had  been  awarded  his  place  to  lead  the  boys. 
Axelina  stood  unquestionably  first  of  all,  both  boys  and 
girls,  in  record.  But  there  were  rich  farmers  to  consider,  the 
pastor's  daughter,  respectability.  So,  although  gentle  Val- 
frid said  he  would  not  be  confirmed,  his  proud  mother  and 
the  diplomatic  clergyman  won,  and  beggar-woman  Swen- 
son's  grandchild  stood  last  in  line  in  the  flower-decked  Pen- 
tecost church ;  had  stood  at  the  altar,  hard,  friendless,  de- 
spising the  prayers  and  the  questions  she  faultlessly  an- 
swered. 

Now  on  Christmas  morning,  through  tune  and  interlude, 
strophe  and  anti-strophe,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  boy  who 


so  THE   DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

played  the  psalmodikon — a  primitive,  one-stringed  lute  de- 
servedly popular  in  its  day  and  played  on  according  to  num- 
ber books.  (Alas,  that  the  psalmodikon  is  heard  no  more, 
even  in  Minnesota!)  The  harper  was  a  fine-looking  boy, 
and  the  doctor  recognized  him  as  from  the  well-to-do  farm 
— Valfrid.  It  was  the  joy  of  Valfrid's  prosaic  life  to  play 
in  church,  and  the  music  in  his  heart  was  not  to  be  measured 
by  earthly  harmony  as  he  drew  the  solitary  choral  notes  from 
the  solitary  string.  No.  55  had  required  much  practise,  but 
he  made  no  mistakes.  A  happy  flush  enlivened  his  delicate 
blond  face  as  he  eagerly  leaned  over  the  instrument,  and 
the  gold  of  his  wonderful  hair  gleamed  in  the  light  of  the 
altar  candles.  He  was  a  god  compared  with  the  buxom, 
green-robed  angel  painted  above  the  pulpit,  whose  proto- 
type was  found  among  the  heavier  females  of  the  congrega- 
tion. They,  meantime,  venerated  the  production,  as  a  gen- 
uine Horberg. 

Doctor  Axel  found  the  Scripture  lesson  in  Johannes's 
cubical  hymn-book  embossed  with  leathern  cherubim,  and 
the  solemn,  slow  responses  sent  him  back  long  years.  But 
the  sermon  was  disturbed  by  the  warm  knowledge  that  a 
stout,  home-made  tallow  dip  in  an  augur-hole  was  blazing 
within  half  an  inch  of  the  nape  of  his  neck.  Also  by  the 
busy  man  in  new,  unpliable,  sheet-iron  homespun,  who 
creakingly  clogged  about  snufifing  the  candles,  and  whose 
natural  deliberation  of  motion  could  only  be  accelerated  by 
actual  contact  with  burning  flame.  Indeed,  in  past  years 
hymn-books  had  taken  fire,  the  fur  on  several  old  ladies' 
hoods  been  seriously  damaged,  and  it  was  miraculous  that, 
when  the  people  rose  to  sing,  there  was  not  a  general  con- 
flagration of  coat-tails. 

Before  dawn  the  long  service  closed,  and  Axelina  pressed 
up  to  the  musician  boy. 

"Valfrid,  I'm  goin'  away  tomorrow." 

"With  him  ?    For  how  long  ?" 

"Forever,"  she  asseverated  with  tears.  She  had  not 
thought  it  would  be  so  hard  to  leave  him. 

"No,  it  be-en't,"  he  stoutly  whispered,  with  a  smile  like 


THE  DOCTOR'S  RELATIVES  Sr 

a  star.  "You  must  come  back.  Lyckligjul,  'Lina."  (Merry 
Christmas.)  And  he  pressed  into  her  slender  brown  hand 
a  string  of  yellow  glass  beads. 

That  night  Axelina  flew  up  aflfrighted,  lest  precious  time 
had  fled,  and  shook  the  uncouth  Johannes  to  go  out  and 
consult  the  stars.  Shivering,  he  avowed  that  they  indicated 
near  morning.  Sidereal  time  was  not  to  be  disputed,  so 
the  oxen  started  in  the  cold,  scintillating  moonlight.  Down 
"coolees,"  ravines,  and  frozen  creeks ;  no  daylight.  Slow 
miles  squeaked  past  to  the  groan  of  the  cart-wheels.  The 
doctor  and  Axelina  ran  furlongs  in  the  spectral  woods. 
Fifteen  miles ;  they  reached  the  stage  station  four  hours  too 
early.  This  archaic  punctuality  amused  the  doctor,  but  no 
freezing  owl  in  the  frozen  forest  was  more  solemn  than 
Axelina  as  the  signs  of  her  zodiac  changed.  The  repressed 
joy  was  so  great  as  to  be  a  burden,  and,  surcharged  with 
the  unknown,  she  walked  as  in  the  vision  of  a  dream. 
*  *  *  *  * 

In  the  next  four  years  Axelina  gave  no  little  trouble. 
For  a  long  time  it  was  only  with  Dr.  Axel  she  was  tractable 
and  somewhat  winning.  Her  sullen  moods,  ignorance,  and 
imperious  will,  very  soon  caused  an  estrangement  between 
the  doctor  and  Miss  Lee,  his  affianced  wife.  She  wanted 
no  such  relatives.    The  engagement  was  broken. 

The  doctor  was  too  busy  to  brood  morbidly.  He  hid  in 
his  heart  an  image  of  the  Laura  Lee  he  could  have  idolized, 
and  worked  on.  Competition,  disappointments  tempering 
each  success ;  ambition  kept  him  at  high  pressure,  kept  him 
from  seeing  much  of  his  ward. 

Axelina  improved,  yet  she  was  seventeen,  the  brightest 
girl  in  the  seminary,  and  without  one  close  friend.  She  felt 
the  void.  She  saw  girls  kiss  their  fathers,  and  suffered 
agonies  of  longing  for  such  an  opportunity.  She  looked  at 
her  guardian's  thoughtful  face  and  wished  she  could  run 
her  fingers  through  his  dark  hair.  Dreaming  of  nights  that 
her  old  grandmother  held  her  in  her  clutches,  she  often  went 
to  Dr.  Axel's  door  and  sat  by  the  threshold  till  morning. 


52  THE   DOCTOR'S    DOMICILE 

Every  day  she  gave  a  passionate  little  caress  to  his  slippers, 
and  vowed  to  become  as  good  as  he  was. 

Every  year  a  few  letters  v/ere  received  from  Valfrid,  and 
she  told  the  doctor  he  was  soon  coming  for  her.  Her  sim- 
plicity provoked  only  a  smile.  But  one  day  she  broke  in  on 
him  at  his  desk.     Vehemently  and  trembling,  she  sobbed: 

"Valfrid  is  sick,  Valfrid.    I  must  go  at  once." 

"Axelina,  child,  be  calm.    Let  me  speak  to  you." 

"Oh,  I  must  go.    When  does  the  train  leave?"  she  cried. 

"Axelina,"  he  said,  a  little  sternly,  for  he  felt  the  need 
of  fortifying  himself  against  that  power  she  had  of  accom- 
plishing her  desires,  "I  do  not  want  you  to  go.  I  cannot 
go  with  you,  and  what  could  you  do?  Next  summer  we 
will  go." 

She  threw  herself  on  the  floor,  clasping  his  knees. 

"You  know,"  he  gently  went  on,  "you  are  expected  to 
sing  tonight.  The  little  wild-bird  must  sing.  You  are  to 
do  so  well." 

The  caress  in  his  voice  appeased  her,  and  she  forced  her- 
self to  be  quiet.  All  afternoon  she  lay  on  her  bed,  with  hands 
tightly  clasped  over  her  breast  to  repress  the  storm. 

That  evening  her  voice  was  truly  beautiful,  and  Dr.  Axel 
enjoyed  her  triumph.  And  he  smiled  as  he  thought  of  the 
morning's  episode  and  of  her  power  to  control  that  temper. 
He  doubted  not  it  was  the  happiest  hour  of  her  life. 

She  marry  Valfrid? 

He  had  a  vision  that,  could  knights  and  ladies  from  the 
baronial  hall  of  their  ancestors  be  conjured  up,  they  would 
not  blush  to  own  this  little  Silfvrestjerna  singing  so  sweetly, 
so  roundly  applauded. 

Forced  to  reappear,  Axelina  stood  a  moment  irresolute, 
lovely  in  her  delicate  pink  dress.  She  only  saw  her  guard- 
ian's fine  face.  A  chill  of  hopelessness  shook  her,  of  misery 
in  the  anguish  of  a  warm,  palpitating  nature,  to  have  no  an- 
swering heart  to  know  it.  She  felt  it  was  black  ingratitude 
not  to  feel  satisfied  when  he  had  done  so  much  for  her.  In 
this  supreme  moment  of  her  years  of  awakening,  the  faces 
before  her  became  a  blank  illuminated  by  Dr.  Axel's  smile. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  RELATIVES  53 

But  he  was  so  far  away,  always  so  far.  All  this  in  a  few 
seconds,  then,  realizing  he  expected  her  to  sing,  she  asserted 
herself  as  Axelina  by  bursting  into  a  little  Swedish  ballad 
she  had  not  thought  of  for  years.  He  alone  in  that  audience 
understood  the  words,  and  sat  electrified  by  her  audacity : 

To  Eastern  land  will  I  journey. 
My  love,  oh,  my  true  love  to  see , 

Over  valley  deep  and  mountain. 
All  under  the  green  linden-tree. 

Over  valley  deep  and  mountain, 
All  under  the  green  linden-tree. 

The  complex  emotions  of  her  heart  swelled  naturally  into 

the  sad,  subtle  cadences,  and  the  fine  air  charmed  every  ear. 

The  delighted  listeners  took  it  as  a  well-planned  surprise, 

congratulating  the  doctor:     "So  odd!"     "Quite  effective!" 

*  *  *  *  * 

The  next  morning  Axelina  was  gone ;  without  a  word. 

Her  few  dollars  took  her  half-way ;  then  followed  a  week 
of  walking,  begging  food,  starving.  She  loosed  a  boat  and 
rowed  against  the  Mississippi  current  half  a  day  between  the 
majestic  hills  that  stretched  homeward. 

Was  it  home? 

Afraid  of  the  night  river,  she  landed  at  a  dusky  highway, 
sending  the  boat  down  stream  with  faith  it  would  reach  the 
owner.  She  came  to  the  old  road  one  mellow  April  twilight. 
All  the  valley  was  pervaded  by  the  faint  April  perfumes  sug- 
gesting flowers. 

Walking  on  slowly,  more  kindly  thoughts  of  the  old  life 
filled  her  mind  than  ever  before.  The  poor,  weak  grand- 
mother slept  under  the  pasque  flowers,  by  the  side  of 
Axelina's  handsome,  disappointed  mother.  Perhaps  Jo- 
hannes was  better ;  perhaps  he  had  awakened  to  some  sense 
of  manhood. 

A  gaunt  figure  reeled  toward  her  and  she  tried  to  hide 
among  the  trees,  but  the  man  accosted  her  rudely. 

"The  lady  would  gimme  someting?  The  fine  lady — lady," 
he  mumbled  with  a  leer. 

It  was  Johannes.    In  the  revulsion  of  her  almost  fantastic 


54  THE   DOCTOR'S    DOMICILE 

nature,  she  shook  with  abhorrence.  Her  spirit  denied  all 
affinity,  even  sympathy.    He  was  never  kind  to  any  one. 

"Let  me  pass !    I  go  to  the  next  house." 

"Lady  not  can  the  way?" 

She  sprang  to  the  open  road,  thinking  he  meant  to  mur- 
der her.  Waving  a  long  switch,  she  pointed  over  the  well- 
known  hill. 

"You  live  over  there,  and  if  you  don't  let  me  pass  and  go 
right  home,  I'll  whip  yon,  and  I'll  go  over  the  creek,  break 
your  whisky  jug,  and  lock  the  cave.  Do  you  hear,  Johannes 
Swenson?" 

Cowed  and  appalled  by  his  nemesis,  Johannes  took 
hands  off  her,  slinking  aside  utterly  confounded.  Involun- 
tarily, he  touched  his  ragged  hat  to  her,  as  she  quickly  dis- 
appeared in  the  woods. 

Soon  she  reached  "V^alfrid's  home.  Breathless  and  weak, 
she  watched  the  spring  fires  on  all  the  hills,  down  in  the 
Mississippi  marshes,  afar  on  the  other  shore.  Like  evil  ser- 
pents they  writhed  up  the  dark,  dim  Wisconsin  hills,  as  she 
recalled  that  Valfrid's  folks  hated  her — the  beggar-girl. 
After  contact  with  the  depraved  Johannes,  she  experienced 
far  less  confidence  in  herself.  Indignities  of  the  old  life  op- 
pressed her  heart. 

One  window  was  light,  but  all  was  silent  as  the  grave. 
As  she  knocked,  the  silver  April  moon,  evanescent  and  white 
as  the  first  April  blood-root  blossom,  dropped  its  early  cres- 
cent behind  the  familiar  notch  in  a  big  black  hill. 

Valfrid's  mother  opened  to  her. 

"May  Isee  Valfrid?" 

"Valfrid?  Who  is  it?"  She  scrutinized  the  tall  lady  in  a 
long  cloak,  who  stood  silent,  a  stranger,  till  Valfrid's  sister 
Annie  cried : 

"Axelina !" 

"O  Annie,  let  me  see  him,"  she  convulsively  sobbed. 

The  weeping  mother  walked  the  floor  in  loud  lamentation. 
Then  they  told  Axelina  that  Valfrid  was  dead. 

Dead  ?  In  all  her  impetuous  journey  she  had  not  consid- 
ered this  possibility. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  RELATIVES  53 

Across  the  yard  they  led  her  to  the  new  house  where 
he  lay  ;  his  mother  did,  who  had  let  no  one  touch  her  darling, 
her  one  son.  The  delicate  boy-face  wore  a  smile,  and  the 
halo  of  yellow  hair  was  lightened  into  camaieu  golds  and 
shades.  This  was  her  true  friend,  who  helped  her  when 
others  scorned,  who  loved  her.  His  plain,  sweet  life  was 
ended ;  this  lovely  form  was  ready  for  the  gloomy  crypt. 
He  could  not  hear  her  voice. 

The  frantic,  exhausted  girl  knelt  beside  him.  Rebellious 
thoughts  surged  unformulated  through  her  being,  terrify- 
ing, agitating  in  their  variable  indistinctness.  Why  could 
not  her  eager,  passionate  longing  keep  Death  back?  Why 
was  anything  stronger  than  her  tempestuous,  sacrificing 
heart  ? 

She  took  the  dainty  chiseled  face  in  her  hands,  and  just 
then  the  candle's  light  flickered  on  the  dumb  psalmodikon 
leaning  against  his  dead  arm.  The  lute,  the  hand,  but  no 
music !    With  a  moan  she  fell  to  the  floor. 

Nothing  more  she  knew  until,  after  long  weeks,  she  saw 
the  doctor  one  summer  day  by  her  bed.  On  the  quilt  lay  the 
queer  old  harp  which  she  had  held  and  fingered  through  all 
the  fever.  Its  one  string  was  broken,  and  the  simple  melody 
of  her  child-life  was  also  silent.  But  majestic  chords  of 
harmony  were  latent  in  her  chastened  heart. 

Long  days  she  lay  weak  and  silent,  watching  Valfrid's 
mother  and  Annie  work.  All  the  kerchiefed  women  came 
one  day  to  make  cheese  for  the  minister.  She  experienced 
a  protest  against  life  in  the  settlement,  though  never  till 
now  had  she  loved  these  people.  Valfrid's  mother  had 
bowed  her  haughty  spirit  in  her  grief,  and  recognized  the 
girl's  nature  as  akin  to  her  own. 

Axelina's  soul  breathed  peace.  With  profound  thankful- 
ness she  waited  to  go  out  into  the  world ;  waited  for  strength 
to  tell  Dr.  Axel  how  glad  she  was  he  had  enabled  her  to  do 
so.  Just  what  she  would  do,  she  knew  not.  The  fever  had 
been  horrible.  Many  times  she  had  seen  Valfrid  die.  She 
too  had  died  and  been  with  him  in  the  kingdom  of  the  dead. 
In  uncertainty  they  had  floated  through  a  universe  of  vapor. 


S6  THE    DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

Again,  fire  serpents  had  coiled  about  him  in  slow,  torturing 
toils.  She  herself  had  burned,  burned,  burned.  She  had 
been  tormented  by  hideous  visions  of  a  huge  burning  psal- 
modikon  in  which  Valfrid  was  laid  out  for  burial. 

Awakening  to  reality,  the  world  seemed  a  river  of  peace. 
The  memory  of  the  hallowed  death-chamber  and  the  smiling 
boy,  was  calm  and  beautiful,  though  mournful  and  sad. 

One  afternoon  the  doctor  brought  her  out  on  the  hill  in 
the  edge  of  the  wood.  It  was  July,  luxurious  July,  when 
Mississippi  breezes  hurry  up  from  the  river  to  the  high 
blufifs ;  when  the  even  lengths  of  Wisconsin  hills  shine  golden 
with  ripe  wheat.  July,  or  Carpasapaivi,  as  the  Dakotahs 
said,  the  month  when  the  choke-cherries  are  ripe.  And  over 
Axelina's  head  hung  profuse  racemes  of  the  glistening, 
black-red  fruit. 

She  was  pale ;  no  bloom  but  on  the  exquisite  mouth.  A 
white  shawl  in  soft  folds  about  her  throat,  made  the  doctor 
think  of  the  black  hair  about  her  bare  shoulders.  She  was 
very  quiet,  not  a  rebellious  feeling  in  her.  The  long  journey 
to  the  Gate  of  Mystery  had  stilled  the  stormy  creature. 

He  closed  his  book,  seeing  the  word  death  a  few  lines 
down,  and  stretched  at  full  length  on  the  slope  below  her. 
This  was  his  second  vacation.  At  thirty-five  he  felt  dis- 
appointed that  life  proved  so  realistic,  so  destructive  of  the 
dreams,  dreamed  by  the  boy  on  the  cliffs  of  the  Baltic.  He 
was  not  bitter,  but  enthusiasm  had  faded  from  his  soul  as 
surely,  though  as  slowly,  as  the  blue  from  a  harebell.  To- 
day, however,  he  felt  a  buoyancy  long  unknown.  This  child, 
this  dear  girl,  would  live. 

"Poor  Axelina,"  and  he  glanced  lovingly  at  her.  She 
smiled  in  perfect  peace.  Involuntarily,  almost,  he  put  his 
hand  over  her  foot — she  had  dainty  hands  and  feet — think- 
ing reverently  of  the  long  miles  she  had  walked  in  the  im- 
pulse of  her  heart.  Just  so  she  had  once  vowed  to  follow 
him, 

Over  valley  deep  and  mountain ; 
All  under  the  green  linden-tree. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  RELATIVES  57 

Life  is  not  all  material.  The  spirit  world  touches  us  in  life 
as  well  as  death ;  how,  otherwise,  could  he  now  be  so  near 
the  impulsive  faith  of  inexperience  ? 

"Well,  Axelina;  are  you  ready  to  go  home  with  me?" 

"Yes,"  she  simply  answered,  though  this  was  the  first 
word  as  to  her  future.  She  suspected  no  change  as  she 
looked  afar  down  over  the  vast  river-marshes. 

But  there  was  longing  in  his  eyes  as  he  questioningly 
searched  her  passive  face.  He  was  very  handsome,  with  the 
background  to  his  fine  looks,  of  a  good,  earnest  man. 

"Come  to  me,  Axelina ;  sing  me  Swedish  ballads.  Can 
you  love  me  well  enough  to  be  my  wife?" 

It  was  a  delirious  moment  to  her ;  words  as  startling  as  a 
flash  of  lightning.  The  color  surged  to  her  face  and  throat, 
her  pulses  bounded  too  quickly.  Him  she  had  adored  afar ; 
reverenced  his  acts  as  those  of  a  superior  being.  She  knew 
that  with  him  life  would  be  bright,  be  pure  and  great.  Love 
him  ?    Have  the  right  to  ? 

Eagerly  she  leaned  forward,  looking  into  his  waiting  face, 
and  he  could  hardly  endure  the  brightness  in  the  great  black 
eyes  as  she  uttered  her  first  thought.  "Oh,  I  should  love 
to  be  your  wife." 

We  know  not  whither  the  path  in  our  garden,  or  the  road 
past  our  house,  doth  tend.  Again  they  went  the  thistle- 
grown  trail  from  the  Swedish  settlement,  and  it  led  to  hap- 
piness, such  happiness  as  few  bridal  paths  do  find.  He  never 
felt  that  he  gave  as  much  as  he  received ;  and  in  the  succeed- 
ing years,  she  no  oftener  followed  the  reason  of  his  dis- 
ciplined mind,  than  he  the  dictates  of  her  loving  impulse. 

Karl  Erickson. 


DOCTOR  RABELAIS 


o 


mil 


NCE — it  was  many  years  ago. 
In  early  wedded  life, 
Ere  yet  my  loved  one  had  become 
A  very  knowing  wife — 
She  came  to  me  and  said ;     "My  dear, 
I  think  (and  do  not  you?) 
That  we  should  have  about  the  house 
A  doctor's  book  or  two. 

"Our  little  ones  have  sundry  ills 

Which  I  could  understand 
And  cure,  myself,  if  I  but  had 

A  doctor's  book  at  hand. 
Why  not  economize,  my  dear, 

In  point  of  doctor's  bills 
By  purchasing  the  means  to  treat 

Our  little  household  ills?" 

Dear,  honest,  patient  little  wife 

She  did  not  even  guess 
She  offered  me  the  very  prize 

I  hankered  to  possess ! 
'Vou  argue  wisely,  wife,"  quoth  I. 

"Proceed  without  delay 
To  find  and  comprehend  the  works 

Of  Doctor  Rabelais." 

I  wrote  the  title  out  for  her 

(She'd  never  heard  the  name!) 
And  presently  she  bought  those  books 

And  home  she  lugged  the  same; 
I  clearly  read  this  taunting  boast 

On  her  triumphant  brow: 
"Aha,  ye  venal  doctors  all. 

Ye  are  outwitted  now !" 

Those  volumes  stood  upon  the  shelf 

A  month  or  two  unread. 
Save  at  such  times  by  night  I  conned 

Their  precious  wit  in  bed ; 

S8 


DOCTOR    RABELAIS  59 

But  once — it  was  a  wintry  time — 

I  heard  my  loved  one  say: 
"This  child  is  croupy ;  I'll  consult 

My  Doctor  Rabelais  I" 

Too  soon  from  her  delusive  dream 

My  beauteous  bride  awoke ! 
Too  soon  she  grasped  the  fullness  of 

My  bibliomaniac  joke! 
There  came  a  sudden,  shocking  change, 

As  you  may  well  suppose, 
And  with  her  reprehensive  voice 

The  temperature  arose ! 

But  that  was  many  years  ago, 

In  early  wedded  life. 
And  that  dear  lady  has  become 

A, very  knowing  wife; 
For  she  hath  learned  from  Rabelais 

What  elsewhere  is  agreed. 
The  plague  of  bibliomania  is 

A  cureless  ill,  indeed. 

And  still  at  night,  when  all  the  rest 

Are  hushed  in  sweet  repose, 
O'er  those  two  interdicted  tomes 

I  laugh  and  nod  and  doze; 
From  worldly  ills  and  business  cares 

My  weary  mind  is  lured, 
And  by  that  doctor's  magic  art 

My  ailments  are  all  cured. 

So  my  dear,  knowing  little  wife, 

Is  glad  that  it  is  so. 
And  with  a  smile  recalls  the  trick 

I  played  her  years  ago ; 
And  whensoe'er  dyspeptic  pangs 

Compel  me  to  their  sway 
The  saucy  girl  bids  me  consult 

My  Doctor  Rabelais. 

Eugene  Fuld. 


MY  REFUGEES 


—^    R.  JOYCE  came  in  while  I  was  giving  the  captain 

I  J  his  dinner.  It  was  not  his  hour  for  visiting  my 
ward,  so  I  put  down  my  gruel  spoon  and  looked 
up  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 

"Can't  you  come  out  and  see  to  this  arrival?"  he  asked, 
stopping  a  few  feet  in  front  of  me,  with  his  finger  on  Tom's 
pulse,  his  hand  filled  with  lemonade  for  Dick,  and  his  eyes 
on  Harry,  so  economical  of  his  time  was  our  little  Doctor. 
In  fact,  I  do  not  think  that  since  I  came  to  the  hospital  I 
had  succeeded  in  gaining  his  undivided  attention  for  a 
single  full  minute  in  working  hours.  I  regarded  this  as 
an  insult  at  first ;  but  discovering  at  length  how  much  he 
depended  on  these  fragmentary  notes  which  he  took  of  his 
patients,  I  had  learned  to  hide  my  diminished  head,  and 
consider  myself  once  for  all  a  lesser  light  in  his  presence. 
But  there  is  a  natural  perversity  about  me,  which  in  spite 
of  such  discipline  "still  lived."  It  was  with  an  instinct 
for  which  I  do  not  hold  myself  at  all  accountable  that  I 
turned  away  from  him  with  as  professional  an  air  as  I 
could  assume,  and  began  choking  the  gruel  down  the  poor 
captain's  throat,  as  if  the  safety  of  the  army  depended  on 
its  descent  therein,  while  I  asked,  in  my  most  business-like 
tones : 

"What   is   it?" 

"Three — a  man  already  gone  with  typhoid,  wife,  and 
a  child — refugees." 

"Hum!  well?" 

"I  want  you  to  get  nold  of  the  woman  and  feed  her  up. 
She's  a  mere  shadow." 

"And  the  man?" 

Dr.  Joyce  looked  round  the  ward  ;  so  did  I.  I  had  one 
empty  bed.    A  little  pale-faced  boy  had  left  it  only  yesterday, 

60 


MY  REFUGEES  6i 

and  gone — well,  to  a  better  rest,  I  trust ;  for  I  found  a  tiny 
Testament  in  his  hand  when  I  folded  it  with  the  other.  It 
was  open,  and  his  finger  was  on  a  prayer — one  of  the  old, 
old  prayers  which  are  always  new,  that  his  mother  had 
marked  for  him.  I  had  a  fancy  for  the  poor  home-sick  little 
fellow,  and  had  looked  at  his  empty  bed  with  something  of 
that  feeling  with  which  one  goes  into  the  twilight  of  a 
room  a  friend  has  left  dark  forever.  I  shrank  from  the 
thought  of  seeing  a  stranger  there  so  soon ;  a  very  foolish 
fancy  for  a  hospital  nurse,  of  course,  but  some  of  these  boys 
had  become  friends  indeed  in  the  long  months  I  had  cared 
for  them.  Besides  this,  I  had  as  much  work  on  hand  as  it 
seemed  to  me  I  could  well  attend  to  without  a  little  larger 
allowance  of  strength  than  usually  falls  to  the  lot  of  woman- 
kind, nurses  not  excepted.  There  was  Mrs.  Cruppins  had 
four  or  five  empty  beds,  though  she  was  the  last  person 
I  should  want  to  go  to,  to  be  nursed  through  a  fever ;  and 
there  was  Miss  Graves,  she  could  take  three  more  as  well 
as  not,  even  if  she  did  go  about  her  work  like  a  martyr,  and 
turn  her  ward  into  a  church-vault,  with  her  funereal  face  and 
her  melancholy  and  interesting  way  of  sighing  over  the 
men.  What  if  the  doctor  did  prefer,  and  very  naturally,  to 
call  on  me?  There  was  a  limit  to  all  things.  So  when  I 
looked  at  him  I  was  going  to  own  up  to  my  hidden  de- 
pravity, and  say  that  No.  2  didn't  want  the  newcomer. 

The  doctor  is  a  discreet  man,  and  can  read  the  signs  of 
the  weather.  He  gave  me  a  generous  half  of  one  of  his 
professional  glances,  and  remarked  quietly  to  a  curious 
young  sergeant  in  the  corner,  who  had  employed  the  time 
of  my  meditation  in  asking  a  volley  of  questions. 

"Yes,  half-starved,  but  thinks  only  of  her  husband  and 
child ;  the  infant  is  more  dead  than  alive." 

Something  rose  in  my  throat  and  choked  me. 

"What  a  heathen !" 

"Who?     I  or  the  typhoid?" 

"Neither  of  you,"  I  responded  curtly;  "bring  him  in 
here." 

The  doctor  went  away  with  the  least  bit  of  a  smile  twitch- 


62  THE   DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

ing  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  I  felt  too  humble  just  then 
to  take  any  notice  of  it,  so  I  meekly  returned  to  the  captain 
and  his  gruel,  gave  him  his  powders,  tucked  him  up  for  a 
nap,  and  when  Dr.  Joyce  came  back  I  was  ready  for  him. 

A  number  of  these  refugees  had  dropped  into  our  hospital 
since  I  had  been  there,  for  two-thirds  of  the  poor  creatures 
were  fit  for  nothing  but  a  sick-bed  by  the  time  they  reached 
Nashville,  and  I  suppose  I  knew  what  to  expect.  But  the 
sight  I  saw  struck  me  dumb.  Two  shrunken  ghost-like 
creatures,  their  clothes  in  tatters,  covered  with  mire  and 
blood,  their  faces  so  gaunt  that,  looking  at  them,  a  chill 
crept  over  me,  as  if  I  looked  on  Death. 

But  this  was  not  a  time  to  grow  nervous.  I  roused 
myself  with  a  start,  and  touched  the  man's  hand  to  see  if 
it  were  flesh  and  blood.  In  reply  to  my  words  of  welcome 
he  thanked  me  in  a  feeble  sort  of  way,  putting  his  hand 
uncertainly  to  his  forehead,  like  one  of  failing  memory,  and 
leaning  heavily  against  the  door.  He  evidently  needed 
prompt  attention,  for  the  fever  was  far  advanced.  While 
the  doctor  led  him  to  the  bed  I  had  time  to  notice  his  short, 
thick-set  figure,  the  shaggy  hair  falling  about  his  low  fore- 
head, and  the  eyes  that  still  showed  honest  and  kindly, 
though  they  were  deep-sunken  and  burned  with  fever ;  the 
scar  of  an  old  gun-wound  in  his  neck,  and  his  hands  coarse 
and  brown  with  labor.  Before  this  war  had  made  him 
what  he  was,  he  had  evidently  been  of  the  poor  of  the  earth. 
God's  poor,  were  they  ?    May  we  have  mercy  on  all  such ! 

He  was  too  weak  to  answer  questions.  I  had  left  him 
sitting  wearily  on  the  side  of  the  bed  for  the  doctor  to  un- 
dress, and  turned  back  to  the  woman.  She  was  standing 
where  I  had  left  her,  with  her  baby  in  her  arms,  her  eyes 
following  every  motion  of  her  husband. 

"Come,"  I  said,  "into  my  room,  and  I'll  see  what  I  can 

do  for  you." 

"And  him?"  pointing  toward  the  bed. 

"You  shall  come  back  and  see  him." 

She  followed  me  slowly,  hushing  the  wail  of  her  half- 
starved  child,  but  saying  nothing  to  me.    Indeed,  she  seemed 


MY  REFUGEES  63 

to  have  hardly  life  enough  left  to  speak.  In  an  incredibly 
short  time  she  and  the  child  were  washed  and  dressed  in 
sundry  garroents  of  my  own,  which,  though  they  could  not 
be  said  to  fit  in  the  most  perfect  manner  conceivable,  espe- 
cially on  the  baby,  had  at  least  the  advantage  of  being  clean. 
After  they  were  fed  and  rested,  I  had  for  the  first  time  a 
critical  look  at  the  woman.  Slight,  and  worn,  as  the  doctor 
said,  to  a  shadow ;  stooping  shoulders,  consumptive  chest, 
and  large  work-worn  hands ;  a  very  pale  face,  one  of  the 
palest  I  ever  saw  except  in  death,  with  thin,  dark  hair  lying 
against  her  temples,  where  I  could  see  the  great  purple 
veins,  and  eyes  which  had  once  been  bright  black,  but  now 
were  dull  and  sunken.  Out  of  them,  when  they  were  raised 
to  mine,  came  a  look  so  dumb  with  suffering,  so  dark  with 
utter  hopelessness,  that  I  could  not  bear  to  meet  it  It 
never  changed.  She  smiled  at  me  when  I  brought  her  baby 
fresh  milk  from  the  kitchen,  or  tended  the  little  thing  while 
she  herself  ate.  She  thanked  me,  her  thin,  quavering  voice 
grown  quite  sweet  with  gratitude,  but  the  dreariness  of  that 
steady  look  never  varied  by  so  much  as  a  momentary  gleam 
of  light  or  softness.  It  reminded  me  of  a  picture  I  have 
somewhere  seen,  to  which  the  artist  had  given  the  rather 
indefinite  title  of  "Desolate" ;  but  which,  nevertheless,  was 
a  spirited  thing,  and  had  stayed  by  me — the  figure  of  a 
woman  in  relief  against  a  stormy  sky;  around  her  a  desert 
beach  strewn  with  wrecks ;  her  hair  blown  darkly  about  her 
face,  and  her  eyes  turned  to  the  waste  of  waters:  a  lonely 
sea-bird  startled  from  the  cliff,  dipping  into  the  foam  of  a 
chilly,  green  wave  at  her  feet,  and  behind  the  purple  line 
of  water  that  bounded  her  vision,  the  setting  of  a  blood-red 
sun. 

Perhaps  you  smile  at  my  fancy.  I  think  the  woman  her- 
self might  have  done  so  had  she  known  it.  Certainly  she 
would  not  have  comprehended  it.  She  sat,  quietly  rocking 
her  baby,  her  hands  folded  over  its  little  fingers,  her  eyes  on 
its  face. 

"You  have  had  a  hard  I'ourney?"  I  questioned  gently. 

"Yes." 


64  THE  DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

"Was  it  very  long?" 

"Yes." 

She  looked  at  me  then  a  moment  without  speaking.  I 
understood  her. 

"You  do  not  wish  to  talk  about  it  now,"  I  said.  "I  will 
not  trouble  you  with  any  questions." 

"Thank   you." 

She  recommenced  her  low  lullaby,  and  while  I  stood 
watching  her  somebody  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was  Tim, 
the  errand-boy.  He  delivered  his  message  after  his  usual 
fashion,  balancing  himself  first  on  one  foot,  then  on  the 
other,  regarding  me  meanwhile  with  half-closed  eyes,  and 
giving  i  is  jushy  head  a  series  of  little  nods  with  an  air  of 
authority  peculiarly  pleasing. 

"Davy  Brown's  heart's  broke  for  his  dinner,  an'  the  sar- 
gint  says  his  bandages's  come  ofif,  an'  he  wants  you  double- 
quick;  an'  Pat  MuUins  he's  ben  howlin'  over  his  arm  this 
hour." 

Being  serenely  conscious  that  I  had  been  absent  but  twenty 
minutes  I  answered  his  innuendo  only  by  a  withering  look, 
closed  the  door  softly,  for  my  ideas  of  babies  being  rather 
vague  I  was  not  prepared  to  state  whether  the  creaking  of 
a  latch  would  start  one  of  those  infantile  choruses  I  live  in 
such  constant  terror  of  or  not,  so  I  thought  it  best  to  be  on 
the  safe  side.  The  hopeful  Tim  whistled  on  before  me  down 
the  stairs,  and  I  went  back  to  my  work,  with  my  heart  for 
the  first  time  deserting  my  boys,  and  wandering  to  my  room 
and  its  pale-faced  occupant. 

It  was  a  busy  afternoon  Brown  must  have  his  dinner, 
the  howling  of  Pat  the  indefatigable  must  be  stopped,  and 
I  must  go  back  to  the  sergeant's  arm.  The  solitary  rebel 
in  the  corner  took  an  hour  of  my  time  for  his  bandages 
and  ablutions,  spinning  it  out  with  remonstrances  and  com- 
plaints so  many,  and  various,  and  profane,  that  I  felt  a 
strong  desire  to  pull  the  sheet  up  over  his  head,  tie  it  down 
at  the  four  corners  of  the  bed,  and  leave  him  there  to 
struggle  and  stifle  and  swear,  at  his  own  sweet  will.  There 
was  a  favorite  drummer-boy,  too,  whose  eyes  asked  mutely 


MY  REFUGEES  65 

for  help — a  little  patient  fellow  whom  I  had  taken  into  my 
heart  from  the  first  day  he  came  to  me.  I  always  had  to 
time  myself  when  I  was  caring  for  him,  for  fear  I  should 
be  accused  of  partiality.  Then  some  one  had  been  awake 
all  the  night  before,  and  must  be  read  into  a  nap ;  and  then 
there  were  letters  to  be  written,  and  medicines  to  mix  and 
choke  down  innumerable  throats,  and  windows  to  open  and 
windows  to  shut,  and  business  with  the  matron,  and  mes- 
sages to  the  doctor,  and  then  at  last  suppers  to  get,  and  sup- 
per to  eat. 

My  refugee  had  found  her  way  down  again  to  her  hus- 
band. He  was  tossing  now  on  his  bed,  delirious  with  the 
fever.  There  was  little  to  do  for  him,  however,  and  I  saw 
she  was  neither  a  fussy  nor  an  ignorant  nurse,  but  sat  quite 
still  with  one  arm  around  her  baby  who  slept,  and  the  other 
attending  to  the  sick  man's  every  want ;  so  I  let  her  be. 
There  was  a  bit  of  a  room  next  mine,  which  had  belonged 
to  a  nurse  who  was  off  duty,  and  home  last  week  with 
:-low  fever.  I  obtained  the  promise  of  this  for  her,  and 
when,  at  half  past  ten  o'clock,  I  dragged  myself  upstairs, 
jaded  and  cross  enough,  I  found  her  there.  I  saw  her 
through  the  open  door  with  the  light  of  my  dim  lamp  fall- 
ing full  on  her  bent  figure  and  white  face.  She  looked  up  at 
me  silently,  her  great  dark  eyes  followed  all  my  motions 
about  the  room.  It  gave  me  a  nameless,  uncomfortable  feel- 
ing that  made  me  turn  and  look  over  my  shoulder  when 
I  went  into  the  closet,  or  a  dark  corner.  I  began  to  have 
serious  fears  as  to  the  practicability  of  sleep  that  night,  with 
nothing  but  an  unbarred  door  between  me  and  this  ghost 
of  a  woman.  In  fact,  I  may  as  well  acknowledge  that  I  am 
naturally  of  a  romantic  turn  of  mind,  and  had  anticipated  the 
recital  of  her  adventures  in  various  forms ;  as,  for  example, 
whether  she  might  be  a  spy,  or  a  Southern  aristocrat  in  dis- 
guise, and  I  believe  I  even  speculated  upon  the  possibility  of 
a  chalked  negro. 

But  when  I  turned  again,  and  saw  how  wearily  she  leaned 
her  head  upon  her  hand,  how  crushed  and  hopeless  was  the 
pressure  of  her  lips,  I  forgot  everything  but  my  pity.     I 


66  THE   DOCTOR'S    DOMICILE 

went  up  ana  touched  the  hand  which  lay  upon  the  baby's 
hair,  and  said :     "I  am  so  sorry  for  you !" 

She  quivered  under  my  touch,  and  looked  up  at  me,  her 
lips  working  beseechingly.  Then,  I  don't  know  how  it 
was,  but  she  began  to  talk,  and  I  listened ;  I  forgot  that  I 
was  tired  and  sleepy ;  my  romantic  fancies  dissolved  like 
the  dew.  I  forgot  that  she  was  ignorant  and  poor.  I  only 
knew  that  she  suffered,  and  sat  quite  still  to  hear  her  story. 

The  woman's  name  was  Mary — Mary  Rand.  I  liked  the 
name  for  her.  Do  you  remember  some  one's  saying — 
Tennyson,  I  think — of  Mary  the  mourner  at  Bethany,  that 
her  "eyes  were  homes  of  silent  prayer?"  I  thought  of  this 
often.  Such  a  cry  went  up  to  God  out  of  her  mute  look. 
I  thought  it  must  ring  through  heaven.  I  never  heard  from 
the  lips  of  any  preacher  such  a  prayer. 

She  had  lived  in  the  southern  part  of  the  State.  Her 
husband  had  done  a  small  fishing  business  on  one  of  the 
inferior  rivers,  getting  but  a  scanty  living  for  a  wife  and 
five  little  ones,  though  a  more  honest  one  than  many  of  his 
kind  to  whom  the  South  closes  the  avenues  of  useful  labor. 
I  could  see  the  home  in  a  picture  while  she  talked.  A  house 
with  broken  roof  and  low  doorway,  half  hidden  under  the 
great  forest  trees,  which  stretched  out  such  giant  branches 
over  it,  and  cradled  it  so  quietly  all  summer  long;  and  the 
little  river  that  wound  among  the  trees,  over  which  the  sun- 
light slanted  and  the  wind  crept  like  a  merry  song ;  the  tidy 
rooms  within  the  house ;  this  stricken  mother  then  so  cheery 
about  her  work,  turning  such  smiling  eyes  toward  the  river 
which  bore  her  husband's  boat,  or  such  reverent  eyes  up  to 
the  sky  which  showed  so  blue  and  still  through  the  vines 
about  the  doorway,  taking  into  her  heart  such  happy 
thoughts  of  God  in  the  silence  of  this  home  He  had  given 
her;  the  children  romping  in  the  forest,  or  grouped  about 
the  door  with  the  light  on  their  chubby  brown  faces  and 
tangled  curls,  or  watching  the  river  turn  into  molten  gold 
when  the  sun  set,  and  they  waited  for  the  father  to  come 
home  from  work,  wading  into  the  water  to  crowd  in  his 
boat  for  a  sad  of  a  few  strokes'  length ;  then  clinging  to 


MY  REFUGEES  (^ 

him  up  the  path,  and  into  the  house,  where  supper  stood 
waiting,  and  the  mother  too.  An  humble  meal,  and  very 
poor  the  lowly  home,  but  none  the  less  dear  for  that.  There 
was  sunlight  and  love  enough  in  it,  as  there  must  have  al- 
ways been  under  the  sound  of  this  woman's  voice. 

The  man  had  been  loyal  from  the  first  of  the  war.  This 
I  suspected,  was  owing  to  the  wife.  She  had  picked  up  a 
little  learning  somewhere — enough  to  spell  out  her  Bible; 
it  was  partly  this,  but  more  a  certain  crude  refinement  that 
asserted  her  superiority.  Something  there  was  in  this 
woman's  soul  which  spoke  like  a  voice  out  of  the  darkness 
of  all  the  circumstances  which  hemmed  her  in,  and  let  you 
see  how  pure  a  soul  it  was,  and  what  it  might  have  been  if 
God  had  given  it  light  to  grow  in.  So,  of  course,  she  knew 
her  country  at  once. 

"I  wasn't  goin'  to  hev  Stephen  settin'  up  agin  the  kentry," 
she  said ;  "and  by  'n-by  he  see  it  as  I  did,  fur  he's  an  honest 
man  in  his  'pinions  is  Stephen,  an'  he  used  ter  set  the  chil- 
dern  a  hoorayin'  fur  the  flag  ter  see  which  on  'em  could 
holler  the  loudest." 

Of  course,  a  harmless,  ignorant  fisherman,  loving  his 
country  in  the  solitude  of  a  forest,  could  not  be  left  long 
undiscovered  and  unpunished  in  this  chivalric  Southern 
land. 

"They  found  him  out  at  last,"  she  said.  "A  whole  pack 
on  'em  went  at  him  every  time  he  went  to  town  with  fish, 
and  they  didn't  give  him  no  peace ;  but  he  never  caved  in  to 
'em — not  a  mite,  an'  the  more  they  worrited  him  the  more 
he  sot  up  fur  the  Guv'nmunt ;  an'  at  last  it  come — what  we'd 
been  livin'  in  fear  on,  a  long  spell.  It  was  one  dark  night — 
I  remember  how  the  wind  was  howlin'  like  among  the  trees 
— an'  we  heered  on  a  sudden  a  yellin'  like  a  pack  o'  hounds 
outside  the  door,  an'  it  bust  open,  an'  some  officers  was 
there,  an'  a  gang  o'  drunken  men  behind  'em.  I  knew  to 
once  what  it  meant. 

"  'Stephen,'  says  I,  'they've  drafted  yer.'  He  looked  so 
like  a  tiger  they  dursn't  touch  him.  His  gun  was  in  the 
corner,  and  I  see  him  lookin'  at  it,  so  I  knew  as  well  as  ef 


68  THE    DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

he'd  telled  me  what  ter  do ;  but  the  officers,  they'd  spied  it 
out,  an'  one  on  'em  he  held  me  so  I  couldn't  move,  an' 
t'others  pinted  their  pistols  on  Stephen  an'  tuk  him  off ;  he 
couldn't  help  it  no  way.  It  made  me  wild-like.  I  got  away 
from  the  man  as  held  me  with  a  great  leap,  an'  got  the  gun. 
They  was  jest  out  o'  the  door  then,  but  I  could  ha'  hit  'em. 
Stephen  turned  round  an'  see  me,  and  says  he : 

"  'Dont',  fur  God's  sake,  Mary — they'll  murder  both  on 
us!"  An'  then  I  couldn't  see  his  face  fur  the  dark,  an'  I 
knew  he  was  gone.  I  fell  down  by  the  gun  all  in  a  heap 
on  the  floor;  the  children  was  cryin'  an'  kissin'  of  me,  an' 
tuggin'  at  my  dress,  but  I  never  took  no  notice  on  'em.  I 
heerd  the  men  howlin'  outside,  but  I  never  moved.  All  at 
once  there  was  a  great  red  light  out  the  winder,  an'  I  heerd 
wood  cracklin'  an'  smelt  smoke  in  the  bedroom,  an'  I  knew 
they'd  fired  the  house.  I  ketched  up  the  childern — two  in 
my  arms,  an'  one  on  my  shoulders,  an'  two  pulHn'  at  my 
skirt — an'  run  out  o'  the  door.  It  seemed  as  ef  a  pack  o' 
wild  beasts  was  out  thar  in  the  burnin'  light.  They  chased 
me  a  ways,  till  I  got  to  whar  the  woods  was  thick  an'  dark 
as  pitch ;  an'  at  last  I  found  they  had  gone,  an'  I  dropped 
down  in  a  thicket  like  as  ef  I  was  dead,  hidin'  the  childern 
under  my  dress.  They  might  ha'  murdered  us  all.  There 
was  wus  things  than  that  done  up  the  river  that  week.  By 
'n-by,  as  nobody  come,  I  durst  look  round.  I  heerd  the 
shoutin'  a  good  ways  off,  an'  I  see  a  great  light  on  the  sky, 
an'  knew  the  house  was  blazin'  up.  After  a  time  it  went 
out,  an'  the  hollerin'  was  fainter,  goin'  back  ter  town.  Then 
'twas  still,  only  the  branches  creaked,  an'  I  heerd  the  wind 
blowin'  over  the  river.  The  woods  was  dead  black,  an'  I 
looked  up  to  the  sky,  an'  there  wasn't  a  star  to  be  seen,  an' 
the  great  dew  dropped  down  like  rain.  I  huddled  the  chil- 
dern up  to  me  to  keep  'em  warm  ef  I  could,  an'  the  little 
things  cried  'emsels  ter  sleep.  They  was  very  heavy,  an' 
cramped  my  arms  till  they  was  stiff,  but  I  didn't  mind; 
an'  it  grew  very  cold,  but  I  never  thought  on't.  I  only 
looked  up  where  the  sky  was  dark,  an'  all  night  long  I  was 
prayin'  fur  my  husband. 


MY  REFUGEES  69 

"When  mornin'  come  we  hid  in  the  darkest  place  we 
could  find,  an'  stayed  thar  tell  the  sun  was  jest  over  our 
heads.  But  nobody  came  after  us ;  so  I  crawled  round  an' 
found  some  berries,  an'  a  brook  fur  the  childern  ter  drink 
out  of,  an'  I  had  two  little  ginger-cakes  in  my  pocket,  an' 
we  lived  on  them  all  day. 

"The  next  day  it  were  jest  the  same.  I  never  darin'  to 
go  back,  an'  the  childern  cryin'  fur  some'at  ter  eat.  When 
night  come  I  were  too  faint  to  move,  fur  all  I  found  I  guv 
to  them.  I  had  dropped  down  on  the  moss,  an'  was  givin' 
up  ter  die  thar,  when  all  to  once  I  heerd  a  noise  in  the 
bushes,  and  I  says,  'O  God !  tuk  care  on  the  childern.'  'Yes,' 
says  somebody  close  by ;  'He's  sent  me  ter  tuk  care  on  'em,' 
and  I  jumped  up  with  a  great  scream,  fur  there  was  Stephen 
alive,  an'  huggin'  an'  kissin'  of  me  an'  the  childern,  an' 
givin'  us  a  loaf  o'  bread  he'd  found  nigh  the  old  place  as 
he  crep'  along  in  the  thicket  ter  get  a  look  at  the  heap  o' 
ashes  that  was  left.  An'  he  telled  us  how  he'd  runned  from 
the  fellar  as  ketched  him,  an'  we'd  hide  in  the  woods,  an' 
all  go  North  together,  whar  none  on  'em  couldn't  touch  us. 

"An'  I  jes'  put  both  arms  round  his  neck,  an'  I  says, 
'Stephen,  God's  guv  me  you  back,  an'  I  doan't  ask  no  more. 
I  guess  He'll  tuk  care  on  us,  an'  we'll  go.'  I  used  ter  read 
how  He  loved  folks  as  was  in  trouble ;  I  used  ter  believe 
it — maybe  I  was  wrong,  maybe  not.    I  doan't  know." 

She  stopped  a  moment,  some  strange,  dark  glitter  creep- 
ing into  her  eyes.  After  that  they  changed  only  to  grow 
more  stony ;  and  her  voice,  as  she  went  on  with  her  story, 
was  cold  and  hard. 

"So  we  tuk  up  with  the  woods  for  a  home,  an'  'twere  all 
the  home  we  hed  fur  three  months.  We  dursn't  go  anigh 
the  railroads,  an'  we  traveled  mostly  where  the  forest  was 
loneliest,  an'  the  swamps  a-plenty.  Thar  was  cold  nights 
too,  when  the  wind  cut  into  us,  an'  the  damp  seemed  ter 
choke  us  like,  an'  thar  was  rainy  nights,  when  we  crep'  un- 
der the  bushes,  and  Stephen  he  allers  tuk  off  his  coat  ter 
cover  the  rest  on  us,  an'  thar  were  no  stoppin'  of  him  no 
way.     An'  I'd  wake  up  a-cryin'  in  my  dream,  an'  see  his 


70  THE   DOCTOR'S    DOMICILE 

face  while  he  slep'  lookin'  so  white  with  the  cold,  an'  the 
childern  shiverin'  all  night ;  an'  I'd  lay  an'  cry  an'  cry,  and 
the  rain  cried  along  with  me  on  the  leaves,  but  it  never 
stopped  fur  all  that.  Sometimes  we  found  a  shed  or  a  barn 
whar  folks  let  us  sleep,  an'  sometimes  when  thar  warn't  no 
rebel  sojers  anigh  the  place  they'd  let  us  in  the  house. 

"But  the  starvin'  come  the  wust.  Folks  give  us  meals 
sometimes,  ef  we  durst  go  out  into  the  road  to  hunt  up  a 
house.  Then,  agin,  they  cussed  us,  an'  shet  the  door  'cause 
we  was  'demed  Yankees'  yer  know.  Thar  was  a  few  as 
give  us  a  basketful  o'  victuals,  and  it  lasted  fur  a  long 
spell.  When  we  couldn't  get  nothin',  Stephen,  he  shot  rab- 
bits an'  birds,  an'  we  picked  berries  an'  ketched  fish ;  fur 
he  wouldn't  never  steal,  that  man  wouldn't,  cf  he  was  ter 
die  fur  it.  But  there  was  days  when  we  hadn't  nothin',  an' 
the  childern  cried  an'  teased  fur  food,  an'  I  only  jes'  sot  an' 
looked  at  'em,  an'  hadn't  nothin'  ter  give  em,  only  ter  hold 
em  in  my  arms,  an  tell  em  ter  fold  their  little  hands  an' 
say,  'Our  Father.'  The  poor  innocents  stopped  cryin'  allers, 
'cause  they  thought  He'd  throw  'em  down  bread  from 
heaven.  In  course  He  did  give  us  some'at  mostly,  or  we'd 
all  'a'  been  under  the  grass ;  but  He  didn't  send  enough  ter 
keep  the  childern.  Four  on  'em  is  dead.  He  didn't  leave 
one  big  enough  ter  call  me  mother,  or  kiss  me  with  its  little 
comfortin'  ways ;  there's  nobody  left  but  the  baby.  I 
doan't  know  why  she  stood  it,  when  the  rest  couldn't. 
P'r'aps  because  I  kep'  it  under  my  shawl  mostly,  an'  it  were 
the  warmest  of  all  on  us. 

"Jack  went  fust — that  was  his  father's  boy.  He  tuk  fever 
in  them  marshes,  an'  kinder  wasted  afore  we  knew  it.  I 
went  out  to  hunt  up  some  supper  one  night,  an'  left  the  boy 
with  Stephen.  After  I'd  ben  a  little  ways  I  come  back  ter 
say  good-bye — I  didn't  know  what  fur,  only  I  couldn't  help 
it.  He  was  lyin'  in  his  father's  arms,  an'  he  says:  'When 
you  come  back  with  some  supper  sing  me  ter  sleep,  mother.' 
So  I  seys,  'Yes,  Jackey,'  an'  I  leaned  over  ter  kiss  him. 
'Good-bye,  mother,'  says  he,  an'  he  put  up  his  little  white 
lips.     An'  all  the  way  I  heard  it — 'Good-bye,  mother.'     It 


MY  REFUGEES  71 

were  like  as  ef  the  trees  kep'  tellin'  it,  an'  the  birds  singin' 
it  in  their  nests,  an'  the  great  blow  o'  wind  that  had  come 
up,  cryin'  it  over  an'  over.  I  put  my  hands  up  to  my  ears 
not  ter  hear  it,  an  I  runned  out  o'  the  woods  ter  get  away 
from  it ;  for  we  must  hev  some  supper,  an'  it  were  safer  fur 
me  ter  go  than  Stephen — folks  didn't  notice  a  woman  so 
much.  I  found  a  bit  of  a  house  anigh  the  woods  as  give  me 
some  bread  an'  a  pail  o'  milk — they  was  Union  folks ;  an' 
I  was  happy-like,  fur  Jackey  would  like  the  milk,  yer  know. 
All  the  way  back  I  was  thinkin'  as  how  his  eyes  would  laugh 
at  the  sight  on't — pretty  eyes  they  was,  Miss,  like  his 
father's,  blue,  an'  bright  like.  Thar  was  a  great  white  moon 
come  up  afore  I  got  thar ;  an'  I  see  how  the  light  was  down 
in  the  holler  whar  I'd  left  him  like  a  sheet  dropped  on  the 
bushes.  Pretty  soon  I  see  'em  all — the  childern  standin' 
round  all  in  a  heap,  an'  Stephen  settin'  on  the  ground  with 
his  face  in  his  hat.  My  heart  kinder  stood  still  all  ter  once, 
but  I  walked  along.  Stephen  he  see  me,  an'  got  up,  an' 
come  up  ter  me.  He  didn't  say  nothin';  but  only  jes  tuk 
my  hands  an'  led  me  to  whar  somethin'  lay  black  an'  still 
under  a  tree.  An'  I  looked  down  an'  I  called  out  'Jackey! 
Jackey!'  but  he  didn't  make  no  answer,  an'  I  touched  his 
little  face,  an'  all  to  once  I  knew  he  was  dead.  I  threw  down 
the  milk  an'  bread  I'd  brought  so  fur  for  him,  an'  I  tuk  his 
poor  head  in  my  lap,  an'  held  tight  hold  uv  his  little  cold 
hands.  I  hadn't  been  thar,  yer  see,  an'  it  come  hard  ter 
hev  him  die  without  his  mother.  I  promised  ter  sing  him 
ter  sleep,  an'  now  I  were  too  late — he  couldn't  hear  me. 
The  moon  was  very  white,  and  I  heerd  the  childern  sobbin' 
an'  Stephen  were  callin'  uv  me  an  kissin'  uv  me,  but  I 
couldn't  answer  him  nohow,  an'  I  couldn't  cry.  I  doan't 
know  much  how  the  night  went.  I  sat  an'  watched  the 
little  shadders  from  the  leaves  comin'  an'  goin'  on  the  boy's 
forehead,  an'  thought  how  they  kissed  it  like,  an'  how  he 
wouldn't  never  feel  me  kissin'  him  agin.  He  were  sech  a 
pretty  boy,  yer  know,  an'  I  never  were  thar  to  see  him  die, 
an'  I  never  sung  that  little  song. 

"  'Twarn't  only  a  week  along  from  this,  when  Stephen  he 


72  THE   DOCTOR'S    DOMICILE 

got  tuk.  He  went  fur  victuals  an'  didn't  come  home.  We 
waited  fur  him  all  day  an'  he  didn't  come,  an'  we  slep'  all 
night  alone  under  the  trees  waitin'  fur  him.  But  when 
mornin'  come  an'  no  Stephen,  I  knew  ter  once  what  it 
meant,  and  I  war  right.  Somebody  as  knew  him  tracked 
him  an'  ketched  him  in  a  yard  whar  he  was  beggin'  our 
breakfast.  The  folks  was  rebels  an'  guv  him  up  easy.  They 
tuk  him  along — two  officers  thar  was — an'  got  a  good  piece 
with  him ;  but  they  hadn't  no  han'cuffs  an'  was  weakly 
plantation  gentlemen.  So  he  broke  away.  He  knocked  one 
on  'em  down  an'  tuk  his  gun  an'  runned.  T'other  fellar  he 
fired  an'  hit  Stephen  in  the  neck ;  but  Stephen  is  a  firs'-rate 
shot  an'  the  fellar  dropped  down.  I  doan't  know  whether 
he  war  hurt  bad,  but  he  never  chased  him  any.  Stephen 
crawled  back  pretty  nigh  us,  an'  'twas  the  second  day  I 
heerd  his  groanin'  in  the  bushes.  He  was  lyin'  thar  all  cov- 
ered with  blood  when  I  come  up.  We  got  him  down  in  a 
big  swamp,  and  thar  we  hid  fur  a  long  spell.  We  hed 
mostly  warm  nights  while  he  were  sick,  an'  no  rain  ter  speak 
on ;  but  the  damp  was  like  pison  fur  us  all  to  be  breathin' 
on.  I  nussed  him  all  I  could,  'twarn't  much  in  sech  a  place, 
an'  I  used  to  crawl  out  every  night  ter  find  food  fur  to- 
morrer. 

"  'Twarn't  fur  as  we'd  gone,  after  he'd  got  so's  to  be  mov- 
in'  afore  the  twins  took  sick.  They  didn't  stan'  it  long,  an' 
it  were  better  fur  'em,  poor  things!  When  I  see  'em  both 
pinin'  ter  once,  their  little  hands  so  poor  an'  white,  an' 
heerd  'em  moanin'  in  my  arms,  I  were  slow  believin'  of  it. 
I  thought  it  were  enough  ter  be  lonely  fur  Jackey  all  the 
nights  and  days — to  be  missin'  of  him  every  year,  an'  be 
cryin'  fur  the  pretty  boy  he'd  ha'  grown  ter  be.  I  never 
thought  I'd  lose  no  more — I  never  thought  on't.  It  come 
ter  me  one  night  when  the  childern  hed  ben  sinkin'  nigh 
most  the  afternoon.  We  hed  stopped  with  'em  by  a  little 
brook  whar  the  bushes  was  thick  an'  warm.  On  a  sudden 
Stephen  he  called  out,  'Mary,'  says  he,  'they're  goin'  ter  see 
Jackey.'  I  looked  up  into  his  eyes  an'  I  says,  'Stephen, 
it'll  kill  me.'    He  put  his  hands  up  ter  his  face  an'  I  heerd 


MY  REFUGEES  73 

him  choke  like.  'Mary,'  says  he,  'I  can't  comfort  yer.'  I 
never  see  him  so  afore.  Thar  hadn't  never  ben  a  time 
when  he  didn't  cheer  me  up  an'  kiss  me  ef  anythin'  vexed 
me — I  hadn't  never  borne  the  least  uv  a  trouble  alone  sence 
we  was  married.  So  I  knew  how  it  cut  inter  his  heart  to 
hev  the  childern  took,  an'  how  selfish  it  war  in  me  ter  for- 
get he  loved  'em  jes'  the  same  as  I  did.  I  shet  my  lips  then 
an'  never  said  another  word. 

"So  we  sat  down  ter  see  'em  die.  The  sun  was  settin' 
like  a  great  red  ball  over  the  thicket.  I  remember  how  I 
looked  round  an'  see  a  sparrow  as  crep'  into  her  nest  under 
the  grass.  The  little  ones  was  chirpin'  at  her,  an'  she  was 
answerin'  of  'em.  I  couldn't  bear  ter  hear  'em  no  way.  I 
thought  how  God  was  makin'  a  little  wuthless  bird  happy, 
an'  hed  forgot  me,  an'  was  takin'  all  my  little  ones  away. 
I  wouldn't  never  hev  'em  in  my  nest  ter  sing  tu,  like  she. 
I  see  everything  about  me  that  night.  I  remember  a  great 
white  rock  an'  sand-bank  over  in  the  field  standin'  out  agin' 
the  sun,  an'  how  I  thought  the  brook  looked  like  blood,  fur 
the  light  were  so  red  on't.  I  see  'em  all — I  see  'em  over  an' 
over,  an'  yet  I  doan't  think  I  tuk  my  eyes  off  the  childern. 

"Stephen  tuk  Katie,  an'  I  held  the  boy,  an'  we  sot  ter- 
gether  by  the  brook  an'  see  the  night  comin'.  We  never 
said  nothin'  to  each  other,  it  wouldn't  do  no  good.  Ef  I'd 
spoke  once  I  should  ha'  cried  out  so,  I  should  ha'  worrited 
the  little  dyin'  things.  I  heerd  Stephen  prayin'  to  himself 
over  Katie — a  sort  uv  whisperin'  prayer,  as  ef  he  didn't 
hardly  know  he  was  sayin'  uv  it ;  but  I  didn't  say  none.  I 
never  spoke  ter  God  all  night — I  ders'ent ;  I  might  ha'  cursed 
Him. 

"Dick  went  fust.  Katie  she  held  out  till  nigh  mornin', 
but  I  jes'  sot  with  the  boy  stone-cold  on  my  knee,  an'  never 
telled  Stephen.  I  see  him  bendin'  over  the  little  thing  in  his 
arms,  his  face  lookin'  so  white,  even  in  the  dark,  an'  I 
heerd  him  prayin',  'O  God !  leave  one  of  'em — leave  one  on 
'em — doan't  take  'em  both !'  I  couldn't  ha'  telled  him  no 
way.  Katie  war  past  speakin'  then ;  but  I  could  jes'  see 
her  little  face  from  whar  I  sat.    Dick's  hands  was  close  in 


74  THE   DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

mine — I  hadn't  never  let  go  sence  they  growed  cold.  I  see 
after  a  while  a  bit  of  light  shinin'  in  the  brook,  an'  I  knew 
the  stars  was  out.  But  I  never  looked  up  at  the  sky.  He 
was  thar  as  had  taken  away  my  childern.  He  was  so  fur 
up.  I  thought  He  never  cared.  Ef  He'd  forgot  me  'twarn't 
no  use  fur  me  ter  be  lookin'  at  His  sky  an'  savin'  over  His 
prayers.  So  I  sat  an'  see  the  shinin'  in  the  brook  an'  the 
two  little  white  faces.  I  heerd  Mattie  hushin'  the  baby  ter 
sleep  whar  I'd  left  her  under  the  bushes.  The  little  thing 
crep'  up  once  an'  put  her  warm  fingers  on  my  face  an'  kissed 
me. 

"I  heerd  Katie  moanin'  an'  I  see  Stephen  holdin'  uv  her 
all  night.  When  the  fust  mornin'  light  come  in  through  the 
trees  we  turned  an'  looked  at  one  another,  an'  they  was 
both  dead.  We  made  'em  two  little  graves  by  the  brook  an' 
buried  'em  thar.  Then  we  tuk  hold  uv  hands  an'  kneeled 
down  on  the  moss,  an'  Stephen  he  prayed  sech  a  prayer  as 
I  never  heerd  afore.  It  made  me  look  up  ter  the  sky  fur 
the  fust  time  an'  see  how  blue  it  was,  an'  how  bright  the 
trees  was  in  the  sun,  an'  think  how  they'd  be  blue,  an'  bright 
over  the  little  cold  things,  jes'  the  same  when  we  was  gone, 
an'  how  we'd  leave  'em  all  alone  so  fur  behind  us.  Then  I 
cried — oh,  how  I  did  cry !  I  hadn't  cried  afore  fur  weeks — 
I  got  so  frozen  like — an'  I  hain't  dropped  a  tear  sence. 

"So  we  got  up  an'  stepped  over  the  brook,  lookin'  back 
ter  say  'good-bye'  to  the  little  graves,  an'  went  on  with 
Mattie  an'  the  baby.  We  come  ter  safer  travelin'  soon,  an' 
found  a  house  by  the  road  as  tuk  us  in  an'  hid  us  up  garret 
fur  a  spell.  They  was  good  to  us,  God  bless  'em!  an'  guv 
us  enough  to  eat ;  but  all  the  nussin'  an'  warm  fires  was  too 
late  fur  Mattie.  They  made  a  bed  fur  her  up  in  the  loft, 
an'  when  the  poor  little  white  thing  put  her  arms  around  me 
and  cried  to  go  to  sleep,  'cause  she  was  so  cold  an'  tired, 
I  knew  to  once  what  it  meant.  'Twarn't  only  one  sort  o' 
sleep  as  would  do  her  good,  so  I  telled  her  she  might,  tryin' 
ter  smile  an'  say  as  how  God  would  guv  her  a  nice  nap. 
I  see  her  shet  her  eyes,  an'  I  crossed  her  little  hands,  an'  I 
telled  God   thar  warn't  nothin'  left  but   Stephen   an'  the 


MY  REFUGEES  7S 

baby,  an'  ef  He  was  goin'  ter  tuk  'em  He'd  better  do  it  now 
while  they  had  a  roof  to  die  under.  But  Stephen  p'inted  ter 
the  little  dead  thing  on  the  bed,  an'  asked  me  ef  I'd  get  to 
whar  she  was,  sayin'  sech  things  ter  Him  as  had  tuk  her 
away  from  sorrer  an'  sufferin',  an'  made  her  a  little  angel 
to  live  with  Him  forever.  So  he  put  the  baby  in  my  arms 
an'  made  me  say  a  prayer,  over  after  him — he  were  allers  the 
best  on  us  both,  Stephen  were.  It  was  I  as  learned  him  to 
read  the  Bible,  but  I  didn't  never  remember  it  like  he.  He 
tuk  it  all  to  once  inter  his  heart,  an'  did  what  it  telled  him 
fur  himself  an'  me  too.  I  keep  a-doubtin'  an'  a-doubtin', 
but  Stephen  he  takes  it  all.  Miss,  jes'  like  a  little  child. 
Well,  then  we  cut  off  some  uv  Mattie's  yeller  curls,  an'  laid 
'em  in  my  Bible,  so  when  I  wanted  ter  kiss  'em  I  had  ter 
kiss  it  too,  yer  see,  and  read  the  promise  which  telled  me  as 
how  I'd  never  be  forsook. 

"After  that  we  found  we  was  suspected  of  bein'  thar,  an' 
the  folks  couldn't  keep  us  no  longer;  so  we  was  off  agin — 
us  three  alone.  Then  we  come  across  some  Union  sojers 
as  tuk  us  up  here  in  the  cars,  an'  a  chaplain  as  paid  our 
fare,  an'  so  we  come  here  this  mornin'.  Miss.  Stephen  is 
clean  beat  out ;  but  ef  God  hain't  forgot  all  about  us,  an'  he 
gets  well  an'  strong,  we'll  go  ter  work  an'  get  an  honest 
home.  I  doan't  know  as  I  can  ever  call  it  home,  an'  all  them 
little  things  as  was  playin'  round  the  old  place  by  the  river, 
lyin'  cold  an'  stiff  in  the  swamps." 

Just  then  her  baby  wakened  and  began  to  laugh  and  coo 
at  her  in  its  pretty  way,  putting  up  its  tiny  hands  to  play 
about  her  face.  There  was  something  so  warm  and  tender 
and  full  of  life  in  the  touch ;  I  saw  the  chill  melt  out  of  her 
eyes ;  I  saw  her  lips  quiver.  I  am  not  ashamed  to  tell  you 
what  I  did.  I  just  went  up  to  her,  put  both  my  arms  around 
her  neck,  and  her  head  on  my  shoulder,  and  began  to  cry. 
After  a  while  I  found  that  she  was  crying  too.  I  knew  that 
was  a  mercy  to  her ;  so  I  laid  her  down  on  the  bed,  and 
knelt  down  and  said  over  some  little  prayer,  to  which  she 
seemed  to  listen.    Then  I  put  her  baby  in  her  arms,  thinking 


76  THE   DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

it  would  comfort  her  best,  shut  the  door  softly,  and  went 
out. 

Stephen  Rand  grew  very  sick.  Dr.  Joyce  began  to  come 
away  from  his  bedside  looking  quite  grave.  Whatever  the 
wife  saw  in  his  face  she  did  not  comprehend,  or  else  for 
some  reason  her  own  did  not  reflect  it.  Every  day,  early 
and  late,  morning  and  night,  she  was  beside  him,  silent  as 
a  shadow,  her  patient  face  never  turned  from  his. 

The  men  began  to  watch  for  her  as  she  came  in  each 
morning.  Sometimes  they  would  pass  her  baby  round  from 
cot  to  cot  for  a  plaything,  or  they  would  send  some  cheery 
message  to  her  in  their  hearty  soldier  fashion,  seeming 
pleased  at  her  grateful  smile.  But  as  the  days  went  on,  and 
they  saw  how  the  fever  was  burning  in  her  husband's  eye 
and  cheek,  and  caught  snatches  of  the  consultations  the 
doctor  and  I  had  over  him  out  in  the  entry,  I  noticed  how 
often  they  hushed  their  noisy  jokes  and  laughter  when  they 
looked  over  to  the  man's  corner ;  and  many  anxious  in- 
quiries for  our  refugees  met  me  every  morning. 

It  puzzled  me  at  first  to  see  how  entirely  Nature  seemed 
to  have  confused  her  rules,  in  the  hearts  of  these  two.  The 
man  clinging  to  her,  resting  so  in  her  strength  and  love, 
yet  fancying  still  in  his  delirium  that  he  was  again  her  pro- 
tector in  the  dangers  of  their  forest  life ;  taking  with  such  a 
childlike  trust  the  truths  from  the  Bible  she  had  taught 
him  to  understand,  giving  them  back  to  her  with  a  faith  as 
pure  as  a  woman's,  yet  withal  a  brave  man,  no  coward  in 
principle,  no  craven  in  danger. 

And  for  the  wife,  her  face  as  I  had  first  seen  it,  told  what 
she  was.  What  we  mean  by  the  innate  religion  of  a  woman, 
was  with  her  dimmed  or  missing.  There  are  natures  which 
must  feel  every  wave,  and  tide,  and  current  that  pulses 
about  them — which  must  try  the  lowest  deep  before  they 
can  anchor.  Once  bedded,  the  waters  from  the  very  depths 
are  still ;  the  sea,  however  stormy,  cannot  shake  that  which 
IS  sure  and  steadfast.  Far  beyond  them,  in  shallow  waves, 
some  little  craft  will  be  anchored  in  the  sunlight,  and  we 
who  watch  that  other  tossing  in  the  surge,  and  hear  the  cry 


MY  REFUGEES  J7 

which  calls  from  deep  unto  deep,  perhaps  turn  away  un- 
pitying.  For,  we  say,  there  seems  a  fairer  haven,  and  they 
would  not  enter  it. 

With  just  enough  intellect  to  stagger  her  faith,  not  enough 
to  root  it,  the  intensity  of  the  life  this  woman  had  led  had 
not  yet  worked  out  its  own  fulfilment.  Looking  a  few  steps 
onward  to  what  was  before  her,  I  trembled  for  her.  What 
chance  was  God  giving  her?  Would  he  not  bring  the 
soothing  of  a  little  rest  into  her  weary  days  ? 

I  used  to  wonder  as  I  looked  up  often  at  her  from  my 
work,  and  saw  how  quietly  she  sat,  "the  same  loved,  tire- 
less watcher,"  how  her  husband's  eyes  followed  her,  and 
his  voice  called  her,  how  they  clung  to  one  another — those 
two  from  whom  God  had  taken  all  else  but  the  knowledge  of 
what  they  were  to  each — I  used  to  wonder  how  she  could 
bear  it  to  have  him  go. 

Out  of  those  busy  days  I  have  saved  many  pleasant  pic- 
tures of  her  as  she  sat  fanning  the  hot  air  about  the  bed, 
watching  for  all  little  cares  for  her  husband,  hushing  her 
baby,  or  perhaps  bowing  her  head,  her  lips  moving  as  if  in 
prayer.  And  I  thought  what  it  would  be  when  for  such 
tender  offices  no  voice  would  call  to  her. 

Once,  I  remember,  I  was  busy  over  the  captain  not  far 
from  her,  and  I  saw  her  turn  suddenly  in  answer  to  her 
husband's  call. 

"Mary,  whar's  the  baby?" 

"Here,  Stephen." 

She  held  up  the  little  thing  so  that  he  could  see  it,  her 
eyes  on  him,  and  not  on  the  child.  He  put  up  his  thin  hand 
and  touched  its  face. 

"It's  all  we've  got  left,  Mary,  ain't  it?" 

"Hush,  Stephen  man !    Yer  too  sick  ter  think  on't  now." 

"No.  I  allers  think,  when  I'm  awake,  the  rest  is  better 
off.    I  like  ter  think  who's  tuk  'em." 

"I  doan't!"  in  a  quick,  sharp  tone. 

"Mary!  Mary!  yer  must.  Yer  might  tempt  Him  ter  do 
wus  things." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  I  could  see  her  thin  lips  com- 


78  THE   DOCTOR'S    DOMICILE 

press  suddenly,  and  I  marked  how  the  purple  veins  were 
swelling  on  her  forehead. 

Her  husband  passed  his  hand  over  the  baby's  puny  face, 
and  then  looked  up  at  her. 

"Mary,  ef  I  should  be  took—" 

She  stopped  him  with  a  low,  sharp  cry,  and  caught  both 
his  hands  in  hers. 

"Stephen,  yer  won't,"  she  said. 

A  bit  of  sunhght  had  fallen  across  the  bed  and  touched 
the  three,  dropping  off  from  her  dark  hair  and  her  deep- 
set,  glowing  eyes,  down  on  the  sunken  face  upon  the  pil- 
low, and  then  on  the  little  child,  who  saw  it  with  a  bubbling 
laugh,  and  put  up  its  thin  hands  to  catch  the  golden  motes 
that  floated  past. 

She  caught  at  it  quickly,  as  if  it  were  a  promise. 

"Yer've  ben  dreamin',  Stephen,"  she  said,  with  a  nervous 
laugh.  "The  sun's  come  ter  wake  yer.  Why,  man,  yer  must 
get  well.  I  haven't  seen  yer  look  so  natural-like  sence  you 
was  sick." 

She  bent  over  with  a  long  look  into  her  husband's  eyes, 
and  pressed  her  lips  to  his.  She  did  not  notice  that  a  cloud 
had  dimmed  the  warm  light  which  was  there  but  a  moment 
before,  and  that  the  face  which  it  had  for  the  instant  touched 
with  a  glow  of  health  was  pallid  again  m  the  gray  of  the 
dull  afternoon. 

There  was  some  strange  contradiction  in  her  nature — 
this  woman  with  the  desolate  eyes  and  frozen  voice — which, 
while  it  accepted  all  life  as  without  hope,  for  the  graves 
which  had  closed  about  it,  yet  was  so  blind  to  the  fact  that 
she  stood  on  the  brink  of  another.  Clinging  so  tenaciously 
to  the  one  love  yet  left  to  her — feeling  so  sure  that  God 
could  not  take  away  her  husband — who  could  wake  her 
from  the  dream?    Not  I,  surely. 

I  watched  her  as  the  slow  days  passed — the  morning  sun, 
the  twilight,  the  night  that  fell  with  such  heavy  shadows  on 
the  hospital  floor — finding  her  alike  with  that  steady  look 
in  her  eyes  and  that  firm  hand  which  betokened  as  yet  no 
shade  of  fear  or  doubt. 


MY  REFUGEES  79 

Sometimes  I  thought  a  glimpse  of  what  was  coming,  dark- 
ened before  her  for  a  moment.  There  was  one  day  when  her 
husband  had  been  in  wild  delirium  all  night,  and  the  morn- 
ing had  found  him  in  a  state  of  half  stupor.  She  had  stood 
long  beside  him,  watching  his  almost  lifeless  face  in  silence. 
I  came  up,  at  last,  and  begged  her  to  go  down  into  the 
yard  with  me  for  a  few  moments,  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 

She  turned  with  the  quick  movement  of  one  in  wonder  at 
my  question. 

"I  can't." 

"But  you  will  be  sick  yourself  if  you  breathe  nothing  but 
this  hospital  air.    The  doctor  will  look  after  your  husband ; 
and  Tim,  you  know,  calls  me  if  I  am  needed." 
i.  can  t. 

"But  if  he  is  worse,  and  if  you  cannot  then  do  anything 
for  him—" 

She  caught  up  her  baby,  stooped  and  kissed  her  husband's 
forehead,  then  followed  me  without  a  word.  I  led  her  out 
into  the  sunlight,  and  having  some  little  nicety  to  cook  for 
one  of  my  boys,  I  left  her,  and  went  into  the  kitchen.  I 
could  see  her  through  the  windows,  pacing  back  and  forth 
under  the  two  or  three  stunted  trees  that  grew  by  the  fence, 
her  eyes  on  the  ground,  the  bit  of  blue  sky  above  her  head, 
and  the  fresh  morning  all  about  her ;  all  about  her — 
not  shrinking  from  her  dark,  uncheering  figure  and  blood- 
less face,  but  touching  them  softly  like  a  blessing.  Back 
and  forth — to  and  fro — I  thought  how  soon  she  would  walk 
back  and  forth,  and  to  and  fro,  alone  in  a  desert  world. 

In  a  few  moments  I  went  out  to  get  the  other  half  of  my 
breath  of  air.  It  was  a  little  yard,  but  filled  just  then  with 
drying  clothes,  drying  pans,  Irish  maids,  and  maids  of  color. 

A  pretty  mulatto  girl  stood  coquetting  with  her  lover  over 
the  fence.  A  swarm  of  little  children  were  playing  in  the 
street — black  and  white  alike ;  indeed,  one  was  hardly  dis- 
tinguishable from  the  other,  for  they  were  all  massed  in  the 
ditch,  deep  in  the  mysteries  of  "mud  pies."  I  noticed,  in 
fact,  that  Young  Africa  had  decidedly  the  advantage  as  re- 
garded skill  in  their  culinary  operations ;  and  as  for  strength 


8o  THE    DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

of  lung  and  fist,  my  little  white  brethren  came  off  second 
best.  For  which  I  pitied  the  young  gentlemen,  and  began 
mentally  to  reconsider  the  question  whether  I  was  an  aboli- 
tionist. They  did  not  form  an  unpleasant  picture,  however, 
with  the  light  on  their  merry  faces  and  gay  dress ;  and  the 
sound  of  their  happy  laughter  rang  like  a  bell  on  the  morn- 
ing air.  Close  beside  me,  too,  on  the  steps,  a  little  coal- 
black  baby,  belonging  to  one  of  our  wash-women,  lay  cooing 
in  the  sun,  making  sundry  demonstrations  with  its  hands 
and  feet,  as  if  it  fought  with  a  whole  race  of  imaginary 
slave-holders.  I  saw  Alary  Rand  stoop  to  kiss  it  as  she 
walked,  looking  at  its  chubby  face  and  then  at  the  puny  lit- 
tle one  she  held  nestled  under  her  shawl.  She  stopped,  too, 
with  a  long  look  at  the  group  of  children  in  the  street,  her 
eyes  shaded  with  her  hand  so  I  could  not  see  them.  Then 
turning,  as  she  resumed  her  walk,  to  watch  the  happy  lovers 
at  the  fence.  Yet  she  looked  upon  them  all  with  the  apathy 
with  which  we  recall  some  bright  dream.  It  zivs  but  a 
dream ;  we  wake  and  it  is  gone.  Seeking  for  it,  we  find 
only  the  silence  of  the  night.  So  we  sleep  no  longer,  but 
wait  for  the  daybreak.  Well  for  us  if  it  comes.  But  if  He 
who  said  "Let  there  be  light !"  revokes  his  decree  and  the 
darkness  lingers — then,  also,  it  is  well. 

Presently  the  noon  hour  struck,  and  the  father  of  the 
pugilistic  baby  on  the  steps  came  home  from  work,  stopping 
a  moment  to  come  in  and  take  up  the  little  thing.  The 
mother  came  out  to  meet  him. 

"Hi,  Dan!  it  am  awfu'  heat  for  ye  to  work,  dis  yere!" 

"Hot  enuff,"  replied  Dan;  "ye  look  beat  out,  little 
woman." 

He  stooped,  with  one  arm  still  around  the  baby,  and  put 
the  other  about  her  neck  to  kiss  her.  The  woman  returned 
the  kiss  boisterously,  but  none  the  less  lovingly  for  that, 
and  looked  up  into  his  face  with  a  hearty,  happy  laugh. 
Then  they  walked  away,  and  down  the  street  together.  It 
was  a  little  thing ;  but  do  you  not  know  that  the  smallest 
knives  are  keenest?  I  turned  toward  the  quiet  figure  which 
had  been  pacing  back  and  forth.     It  was  quiet  no  longer. 


MY  REFUGEES  8i 

She  looked  up  at  me  quickly,  her  whole  face  quivering. 
Then  she  wrung  her  hands  tightly  across  her  forehead,  and 
hurried  past  me  into  the  house. 

We  had  some  busy  days  after  this.  There  were  two 
deaths  and  a  fresh  relay  of  wounded,  among  whom  were  a 
number  of  rebel  prisoners — whom  I  sent,  by-the-way,  to 
Mrs.  Cruppins.  I  acquit  myself  of  all  unholy  self-indul- 
gence in  this  arrangement.  I  felt  that  I  was  serving  my 
country  in  sending  her  enemies  to  the  most  uncomfortable 
place  I  had  at  command. 

After  the  first  gloom  caused  by  the  two  empty  beds  and 
the  sight  of  fresh  suffering  had  passed  away,  the  boys  ral- 
lied from  it  into  such  a  programme  of  jokes  and  laughter 
as  quite  filled  the  day.  I  began  to  think  they  had  forgotten 
their  sympathy  with  our  refugees,  and  was  musing  upon 
the  fickleness  of  human  nature,  while  I  sat  one  morning  in 
a  meditative  attitude  before  the  kitchen  fire,  my  sleeves 
rolled  up,  my  eyes  fixed  reflectively  upon  a  basin  of  arrow- 
root, and  blessed  with  the  consciousness  that  my  face  was 
slowly  but  surely  turning  to  "celestial  rosy  red"  over  the 
coals.  While  thus  occupied  I  neglected  the  warning  of  a 
familiar  whistle,  and  was  paid  for  it  by  hearing  a  suppressed 
snicker  behind  the  door,  and  feeling  the  gaze  of  two  very 
small  gray  eyes  fastened  upon  me  through  the  crack. 

"Cool  weather,  ain't  it?" 

The  remark  was  supposed  to  be  addressed  to  some  in- 
visible infant,  whom  I  could  hear  crawling  opportunely 
about  in  the  same  mysterious  corner.  The  infant  assented 
by  a  scream  which  set  every  one  of  my  nerves  on  edge. 

"Maybe  we'd  like  our  picter  took?"  rejoined  the  In- 
visible. 

Again  the  infant  assented  as  before.  The  assent  was 
followed  by  the  same  results.  I  buckled  on  my  armor  at 
this.  I  took  off  my  arrowroot  with  a  jerk,  called  indis- 
criminately on  the  various  maids  of  the  tub  and  ironing- 
board  about  me  to  go  to  the  rescue  of  the  musical  child,  re- 
pressed a  strong  desire  to  throw  my  steaming  gruel  at  the 
eyes  behind  the  crack,  and  marched  up  to  the  offender. 


82  THE  DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

"Tim,"  I  said  sternly,  "is  this  you  ?" 

"That's  allers  ben  my  'pinion.  Miss." 

"What  do  you  wish  ?" 

"Dr.  Joy'ce  sent  for  you,  post  haste." 

My  desire  concerning  the  arrowroot  this  time  got  so  far 
under  way  of  fulfilment  that  I  saved  it  only  by  a  sudden 
pull,  and  the  lucky  Tim  escaped  with  a  few  drops  on  his 
hand.  Enough,  however,  was  perhaps  as  good  as  a  feast, 
for  he  grew  suddenly  dumb,  and  followed  me  meekly  up  the 
stairs,  eyeing  the  while  his  reddened  finger  with  a  thoughtful 
aspect  which  gave  me  the  greatest  satisfaction. 

The  doctor  met  me  with  a  grave  face. 

"Well,"  I  said,  stopping  short. 

"Stephen  Rand — he  can't  last  through  the  night,  unless 
there  is  some  change  I  see  no  reason  to  expect." 

"Who'll  tell  her?" 

"You  must." 

"Dr.  Joyce,"  said  I,  "I'm  no  coward,  and  I  never  dis- 
obey orders ;  but  I  wish  you'd  find  me  a  few  moments  to  go 
away  and  cry  first." 

"Why — why,  really,"  said  this  good  man,  whom  I  puzzled 
every  day  by  my  feminine  developments.  "I  don't  see  how 
you  can  be  spared  just  now.  There's  the  man  who  came  last 
night  waiting  for  a  fresh  bandage ;  and  Jones,  and — I  don't 
see  how  there's  time  just  at  present." 

Of  course  there  wasn't.  I  knew  that  very  well.  I  must 
face  duty  if  it  put  me  in  the  front  and  held  me  under  the 
guns. 

I  found  the  boys  quite  sober  as  I  passed  along,  finishing 
all  the  most  pressing  work,  and  prolonging  it,  I  am  afraid, 
rather  more  than  was  necessary  ;  for  which  I  expect  you  will 
combat  my  assertion  that  I  was  not  a  coward. 

"So  he's  going  at  last !"  the  captain  said,  with  a  sorrowful 
glance  into  the  corner.    "I — I  call  that  hard,  poor  thing!" 

The  sergeant  called  softly  as  I  went  by : 

"Have  you  told  her?  If  it  was  my  wife — if  I  was  you, 
I'd  rather  be  under  fire  than  have  it  to  do!" 

"I  say,  mum" — and  Pat,  the  warm-hearted,  was  tugging 


MY  REFUGEES  83 

at  my  sleeve  with  his  one  arm — "I  say,  how  long'll  he  hold 
out?" 

"Till  night." 

"May  the  Howly  Vargin  an'  all  the  Saints  have  mercy  on 
her!"  he  ejaculated  fervently.  "She's  sech  a  poor  young 
critter,  shure !" 

But  the  thing  that  most  unmanned  me,  more  than  all  the 
anxious  questions  that  met  me  from  each  bed  as  I  passed 
along — the  messages  from  Jones  and  Brown,  or  the  con- 
descending sympathy  of  the  rebel — was  the  entreaty  of  my 
little  drummer-boy,  who  had  lain  in  agony  with  his  wound 
for  many  weeks,  and  was  himself  marked  with  the  touch 
of  that  unerring  finger  that  no  human  care  or  love  can 
parry — an  orphan  child,  to  whom  now,  I  alone  was  a 
mother ;  and  so  it  was  that  even  to  look  at  him  as  he  turned 
his  patient  face  so  mutely  on  the  pillow,  brought  the  quick 
tears.     Putting  up  his  hand  into  mine  he  said  softly: 

"Is  the  chaplain  here?" 

The  chaplain  was  sick  that  morning,  and  so  I  told  him. 

"Who'll  pray  for  that  man?" 

"My  boy,  he  isn't  afraid  to  die ;  he  needs  no  chaplain." 

"But  his  wife ;  she  has  such  a  white,  white  face !" 

I  was  silent.  I  could  not  tell  him  how  she  needed  prayer 
— purer,  better  prayers  than  mine  could  be. 

"I  remember  how  mother  felt  when  father  died,"  he  said, 
and  spoke  no  more  then,  but  turned  his  face  quietly  away. 
I  saw  that  he  folded  his  hands,  and  I  heard  the  echo  of  a 
whisper  on  his  lips. 

I  went  up  at  last  to  Mary  Rand  and  touched  her  shoulder. 

"I  want  to  see  you  a  moment,"  I  said. 

She  turned  with  a  look  of  surprise,  stooped  a  moment  to 
touch  her  husband's  forehead  with  her  hand,  then  rose  and 
followed  me. 

We  sat  down  under  a  large  entry  window,  quietly.  I  re- 
member how  the  garish  sunlight  played  about  her  worn 
face,  and  how  the  wind  blew  in  gusts  up  the  stairs  and 
through  the  deserted  passage. 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  I  began.     But  there  I 


84  THE   DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

stopped,  held  fast  by  the  look  in  her  eyes.  Dark,  yet  filled 
with  the  depths  of  some  glowing  light;  transfixed  like  one 
who  asks  the  question  on  which  hangs  an  eternity.  I 
caught  her  hand  quickly  and  held  it  in  both  of  mine.  I  could 
not  speak.    She  understood  the  answer. 

"I  know" — speaking  slowly  in  a  voice  that  froze  me — "I 
know  what  yer've  come  ter  say.  How  long'll  they  give 
him?" 

"The  doctor  says  the  crisis  must  come  tonight." 

"Tonight."  She  repeated  the  word  slowly,  like  one 
whose  memory  is  becoming  treacherous.  "Tonight.  Ef 
there's  a  God  in  heaven  I  hope  He'll  remember  He's  takin' 
all  I've  got  left." 

Her  hand  lay  like  ice  in  mine.  She  did  not  hear  my 
words ;  she  did  not  feel  my  touch  which  tried  to  detain  her. 
She  rose  and  walked  slowly  back,  with  uncertain  steps,  as 
if  she  walked  in  the  dark. 

I  found  her  when  I  came  back  in  my  old  seat,  in  the 
same  attitude  of  quiet  watching,  with  the  same  unfaltering 
look,  a  shade  paler,  the  lines  about  her  mouth  sharper ;  but 
her  voice,  when  she  spoke  to  her  husband,  clear  and  low  in 
its  love ;  and  there  was  no  cry  or  sobbing  that  might  dis- 
turb his  last  few  hours.  That  was  in  the  morning.  Once 
she  left  him,  to  go  to  the  kitchen  and  feed  her  baby,  but 
that  was  all.  The  broad  noon-light  struck  at  last  in  flakes 
upon  the  floor.  I  brought  up  a  little  dinner,  and  tried  gently 
to  make  her  eat.  She  only  shook  her  head,  pushing  it  away. 
Through  all  the  hot  afternoon  she  did  not  seem  to  move 
her  eyes  from  her  husband's  face.  He  was  tossing  on  the 
bed  in  frenzy,  calling  for  her,  catching  at  her  hand,  but  still 
he  did  not  recognize  her. 

Her  baby  slept  quietly  on  her  arm.  She  did  not  seem  to 
know  it,  holding  it  mechanically.  Toward  evening  it 
awakened  and  cried.  She  paid  no  heed  to  it.  I  went  up 
and  took  the  child  gently  from  her.  Her  arm  remained  in 
the  same  position  as  before.  I  could  hear  her  quick,  sharp 
breathing;  but  she  did  no*,  look  at  me  nor  speak.  I  took 
the  little  thing  away  and  found  a  negro  girl  to  care  for  it, 


MY  REFUGEES  8s 

wondering  as  I  went,  and  felt  the  clinging  hands  about 
my  neck,  whether  its  warm  touch  could  ever  comfort  her, 
and  if  God  would  not  in  mercy  take  them  both. 

The  evening  came  at  last.  The  boys  were  very  quiet,  and 
we  sat  watching  through  the  windows  the  gorgeous  hues 
of  purple  and  gold  that  were  in  the  sky.  The  great  warm 
sun  dropped  at  length  behind  the  hills.  The  twilight  be- 
gan to  creep  in  at  the  windows  and  fall  heavily  on  the 
hospital  floor.  It  wrapped  her  figure  where  she  sat,  one 
white,  thin  hand  fanning  her  husband,  the  other  lying 
clenched  in  her  lap,  her  head  bent  toward  the  bed  to  listen 
to  his  r  Lvings.  Once,  when  he  had  called  her  name  many 
times,  I  saw  her  drop  the  fan  quickly  and,  creeping  up,  lay 
her  head  upon  his  arm  with  a  long  wail. 

"Oh,  Stephen,  it's  me !  yer  wife,  Stephen !  I  ain't  never 
left  yer.    Ef  yer'd  only  kiss  me  once  1" 

Perhaps  he  understood  her,  for  he  put  the  hand  he  held 
to  his  hot  lips.  She  put  her  arm  about  his  neck  and  kissed 
him  once — twice — almost  fiercely.  Then  she  buried  her  face 
ill  the  clothes.  I  could  just  hear  her  stifled  cry,  "Oh,  my 
God!  my  God!  my  God!"  three  times — a  cry  that  made  me 
tremble.  The  evening  wore  away.  Stephen  Rand  lay 
panting  and  weaker  now  as  the  night  came  on. 

I  sat  watching  the  forms  about  his  bed  and  the  flickering 
of  the  newly-lighted  lamp  above  the  faces  of  my  boys.  Now 
and  then  some  one  called  me,  and  I  went  silently  to  meet 
their  wants.  Often  I  could  hear  a  groan  from  some  suf- 
ferer, or  the  captain's  cough,  but  nearer  and  more  dis- 
tinctly Stephen  Rand's  labored  breathing,  and  his  wife's  low 
voice  soothing  his  delirium.  Once  the  little  drummer  called 
faintly  for  some  water.  I  went  up  to  give  it  to  him.  He 
smiled  as  I  left  him,  looking  over  to  the  corner. 

"I  haven't  forgotten  her,"  he  said.  So  he  turned  away, 
and  once  more  folded  his  hands.  I  came  back  and  sat  down 
again.  I  could  do  nothing  for  him.  His  wife  jealously 
watched  for  every  care  which  now  remained.  I  watched 
her  face,  wondering  who  would  dare  to  comfort  her  when 
the  morning  came. 


86  THE  DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

Presently  her  husband  grew  more  quiet,  and  fell  at  last 
into  an  uneasy  slumber,  fitful  and  restless  at  first,  but  grad- 
ually he  became  quite  still.  The  doctor,  with  his  finger  on 
the  pulse,  looked,  I  thought,  surprised. 

Was  it  stupor,  or  rest?  Was  it  death,  or  life?  The 
woman's  eyes  asked  him  mutely,  but  he  could  not  tell  her. 

The  light  fell  upon  her  where  she  was  crouched  on  the 
floor  by  the  bed,  her  hands  in  her  husband's.  Her  thin  hair 
had  fallen  down  about  her  neck ;  her  face,  with  its  drawn 
lips  and  hueless  cheeks,  looked  more  like  death  than  the 
one  on  which  she  gazed.  A  soft  natural  heat  seemed  to 
color  that  at  last,  and  he  stirred  in  his  sleep.  The  doctor 
passed  his  hand  over  the  man's  forehead  and  I  was  sure  his 
face  brightened. 

"Speak  to  him,"  he  said  to  the  wife. 

She  bent  over,  with  her  hair  falling  about  her  face  so  I 
could  not  see  it. 

"Stephen !" 

He  opened  his  eyes  and  smiled  faintly. 

"Whar  are  ye,  Mary?" 

"Here,  Stephen!     I've  tuk  yer  hand." 

"Yes.  I  thought  I'd  got  ter  go  away,  Mary.  God's  guv 
me  back  ter  ye!" 

He  was  quite  himself  now — weak  as  an  infant,  his  voice 
scarcely  above  a  whisper,  but  natural  in  its  tone ;  and  the 
hand  which  his  wife  held  had  grown  soft  and  moist. 

She  clasped  it  tightly,  holding  it  up  against  her  breast, 
and  dropped  her  face  upon  the  pillow  by  his,  her  hair  falling 
over  them  both.  Her  whole  slight  frame  was  quivering. 
No  one  could  see  her  face.  Through  the  moments  that 
passed  before  she  spoke,  her  husband  touched  her  hair 
caressingly,  and  smiled.  At  last  it  came — a  little,  low  cry, 
like  a  penitent  child. 

"Oh,  Stephen !  He's  guv  yer  back,  an'  I  won't  never  say 
hard  things  on  Him  agin !  I  thought — I  thought,  O  I  my 
husband!   I  thought  He'd  tuk  yer,  an'  left  me  all  alone!" 

I  heard  the  sergeant's  sobs  from  the  other  end  of  the 
room ;  the  boys  who  had  sat  up  in  bed,  holding  their  breath 


MY  REFUGEES  87 

to  listen,  lay  down  again  and  turned  their  faces  to  the  wall ; 
the  doctor  choked ;  and  as  for  me  I  ran  out  of  the  room, 
locked  myself  in  upstairs,  and  cried  like  a  baby  for  fifteen 
minutes. 

When  I  went  to  the  little  drummer-boy  a  while  after  and 
touched  his  forehead,  I  started  at  the  chill.  His  hands  were 
still  folded  as  when  he  sought  from  the  orphan's  God  a 
blessing  for  this  humbled,  grateful  woman ;  and  even  while 
he  asked  he  stood  face  to  face  with  Him.  She  was  a 
stranger,  but  he  took  her  in — into  his  pure  child's  heart ! 

Who  can  tell  what  agencies  that  prayer  set  at  work  ?  Who 
knows  what  she  owed  to  the  boy,  lying  so  still  and  with  such 
a  smile  before  her? 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps. 


i 


THE  COUNTRY  DOCTOR 

N  his  big  fur  coat  and  with  mittens  big  as  hams, 
With  his   string  of  bells  a-jingling,  through  the 

countryside  he  slams, 
There  are  lots  of  calls  to  make,  and  he's  always  on 
the  tear, 
A-looming  in  the  cutter  like  an  amiable  bear. 

And  it's  hi-i-i,  there, 

Johnny,  don't  ye  care. 

Though  'tis  aching  something  awful  and  is  most  too  much 

to  bear. 
Just-be-gay ! 
As  soon  as  it  is  day. 
The  pain  will  go  a-flying,  for  the  doctor's  on  the  way. 

There  are  real,  true  saints,  there  are  angels  all  around, 
But  there  isn't  one  that's  welcomer  than  he  is,  I'll  be  bound, 
When  he  bustles  in  the  bedroom  and  he  dumps  his  buff'ler 

coat, 
And  sticks  a  glass  thermometer  a-down  the  suflf'rin'  throat. 

And  it's  chirk,  cheer  up ! 
Mother,  bring  a  cup ! 

You're  going  to  like  this  bully  when  you  take  a  little  sup. 
There — there — why, 
There's  a  twinkle  in  your  eye ! 

You'll   be   out    again    to-morrow,    bub ;    gid-dab,    gid-dab, 
good-by ! 

Holm  AN  F.  Day. 


TOR 

.itens  big  as  hams, 
a  jingling,  through  the 

make,  and  he's  always  on 

.  I  .iniiahle  bear. 


>;  awful  and  is  most  too  much 


tj/£  ^ 


ir's  on  the  way. 

igels  all  around, 
'e  is,  I'll  be  her  — 
■  lumps  his  bu; 

.VII  tnc  suflf'rin'  throat. 


I  you  take  a  little  sup. 
bub ;    gid-dab.    gid-dab, 

H0LM.\N    r,  AJAi. 


88 


HER  BUSY  DAY 


M 


RS.  CLUBLY  BANCOCK  consulted  a  physician 
one  day  in  regard  to  certain  distressing  symptoms 
which  had  manifested  themselves  in  her  being. 
Her  fingers  had  taken  on  the  habit  of  twitching. 


Her  eyes  saw  specks  in  the  atmosphere  where  there  were 
no  specks.  She  was  quite  unable  to  control  a  disposition 
towards  activity.  At  times,  when  her  frame  and  brain  were 
so  weary  that  each  muscular  and  mental  function  produced 
pain,  she  drove  on  at  her  household  duties  and  at  her  clubs 
and  at  her  churches,  regardless.  She  could  not  restrain 
herself. 

The  physician  looked  very  grave  when  she  stated  to  him 
these  facts.  He  told  her  frankly  that  the  only  medicine  she 
needed  was  rest.  "You  are  threatened,  my  dear  Madam," 
he  said,  "with  nervous  prostration.  You  must  ease  the 
strain,  that  is  all."    Which  was  easy  enough  to  say. 

Mrs.  Bancock  left  his  presence  fully  resolved  to  rest.  She 
tried  hard  to  do  nothing;  but,  despite  herself,  she  did  not 
at  once  succeed.  For  weeks  she  tried,  and  for  weeks  she 
attended  as  usual  to  her  household  duties  and  to  her  clubs 
and  to  her  church.  She  was  in  a  fair  way  to  kill  herself. 
The  physician  told  her  so. 

Then  she  became  frightened  and  desperate.  She  concen- 
trated every  ounce  of  her  resolution,  and  remained  in  her 
bed  for  an  entire  day.  During  that  day  she  hardly  moved. 
But  that  night  she  arose  and  dressed  herself.  Upon  her 
cheeks  was  the  flush  of  victory.  She  contemplated  herself 
in  the  mirror  and  smiled  a  smile  indicative  of  the  utmost 
satisfaction. 

"At  last!"  she  murmured.  "At  last!  Today  I  have  ac- 
complished something  1" 

David  H.  Talmadge. 
89 


CUPID.  M.  D. 

characters: 
The  Alajor-General. 
The  Widow. 

Scene. — The  waiting-room  at  a  Medical  SpeciaHst's. 

(Enter  the  Major-General,  c.) 

General  (speaking  off)  :  Say  "Major-General,  not  Gen- 
eral! Major-General!"  (Comes  down.)  Confound  these 
fellows!  I  have  to  pay  my  tradesmen  half  as  much  again 
for  being  a  major-general  as  I  did  when  I  was  a  colonel. 
There's  a  regular  graduated  tax  in  London  for  old  soldiers. 
Colonel  so  much,  major-general  so  much  more.  Confound 
'em !  And  half  of  'em  don't  know  the  diiTerence  between 
a  general  and  a  major-general,  and  want  to  charge  me  as  if 
I  were  a  field-marshal.  Thank  the  Lord,  I'm  the  only  one 
here,  except  the  victim  in  the  torture  chamber,  so  perhaps  I 
shan't  be  kept  waiting  more  than  a  couple  of  hours.  Humph ! 
Weekly  papers !  I  used  to  read  'em  when  I  was  in  India, 
but  since  I've  retired  and  this  confounded  fellow  has  been 
tinkering  at  my  liver  I  hate  the  sight  of  'em.  How  can  a 
man  enjoy  the  papers  at  his  club  when  they  remind  him  of 
the  doctor's  waiting-room?  I'll  enter  a  protest  against  the 
custom.  (Collects  the  illustrated  papers  and  sits  on  them.) 
Now,  then,  where's  The  Lancet?  Something  cheerful  about 
sawing  off  other  fellows'  legs  will  suit  me,  a  sort  of  sherry 
and  bitters  before  the  feast  that's  to  come.  Here  we  are ! 
(Voices  heard  without.)  Lord  love  us,  here's  a  woman! 
They're  always  rushing  off  to  the  doctor,  though  -what  on 
earth  they  ever  have  the  matter  with  them  that  couldn't  be 
cured  with  a  bread  pill,  beats  me.  But  I  suppose  the  doctors 
must  live. 

(The  Widow  is  shown  in,  c.) 

90 


CUPID.  M.  D.  91 

Widow  (sitting  l.)  :  What  a  nuisance!  One  of  those 
horrid  old  retired  generals,  I  suppose.  Now  I  shall  be  kept 
waiting  for  hours  while  he  dilates  on  his  imaginary  ailments. 
What  can  a  rough,  strong  man  have  the  matter  with  him? 
Liver,  of  course!  That's  overeating  and  too  many  whisky 
pegs.  Men  are  so  greedy!  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  resign 
myself  to  looking  at  the  illustrated  papers,  as  usual.  Strange, 
I  don't  see  any  of  them!  I'm  afraid  to  ring  and  ask  that 
pompous  butler;  he  might  be  reading  them  in  the  pantry. 
I'll  ask  the  liverish  old  gentleman !  Perhaps  he's  seen  them. 
(Coughs.)    Ahem!    I  beg  your  pardon. 

General:  I  beg  yours,  ma'am!  (Aside.)  Now,  what 
does  she  want  with  me  ?  A  widow  evidently.  No  use  trying 
it  on  with  an  old  dog-fox  like  me.  Seen  too  much  of  'em  in 
India. 

Widow:  I'm  sorry  to  interrupt  you,  but  have  you  seen 
the  illustrated  papers? 

General  :  No,  ma'am,  I  haven't,  and  I  don't  mean  to. 
If  you  read  'em  here,  how  can  you  enjoy  'em  at  the  club? 

Widow  :  But  I  haven't  got  a  club,  and  I  want  to  read 
them  here,  as  I  shall  have  hours  to  wait — (aside) thanks 
to  you.  (Looks  about.)  Why,  he's  sitting  on  them,  the 
old  wretch !  But  I'll  have  them  out  if  I  die  for  it.  (Aloud.) 
I'm  sorry  to  disturb  you,  but  I  think  the  papers  are  behind 
your  chair. 

General:  Behind  my  chair?  (Aside.)  Confound  the 
woman!     (Aloud.)    Impossible,  ma'am  !    Why,  so  they  are ! 

Widow  :     Perhaps  the  butler  put  them  there. 

General  :  The  butler !  No,  ma'am.  No  butler  would 
dare  to  take  such  a  liberty.     (Rises.) 

Widow  :  Doctors'  butlers  are  capable  of  anything.  Thank 
you,  if  you  will  let  me  have  them. 

General  (still  holding  them)  :  Madam,  let  me  advise 
you.  I  have  had  plenty  of  experience.  Don't  look  at  these 
papers.  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  you,  whether 
you  are  going  to  be  trepanned  like  a  poor  fellow  I  have  been 
reading  of  in  The  Lancet,  or  have  a  leg  off  or  an  eye  out ; 
but,  whatever  it  is,  don't  read  'em.    They  will  always  bring 


92  THE   DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

back  the  remembrance;  you  will  always  feel  as  if  your  leg 
were  coming  off  again ;  they  will  always  taste  of  the  surgery. 
I  can  hardly  look  at  'em,  now — they  remind  me  of  my  liver. 
Take  an  old — a  middle-aged  man's  advice  and  don't  read 
'em.     Sit  on'  em. 

Widow  (aside) :  Oh,  that's  how  they  came  on  his  chair! 
(Aloud.)  But  I'm  not  going  to  have  anything  out  or  off, 
and  I  need  soothing.  (Takes  papers.)  Thank  you  very 
much! 

General  :  Well,  if  you  will  read  'em,  of  course  you  must 
But  I've  warned  you.     (Sits.) 

Widow  (after  a  pause) :  I'm  sorry  to  interrupt  you 
again,  but  your  voice  and  manner  seem  strangely  familiar 
to  me. 

General:  No,  ma'am,  they're  not!  Impossible^-quite 
impossible !  I've  been  in  India  and  the  Soudan  for  thirty 
years,  on  and  off.  Impossible!  (Aside.)  Confound  the 
woman ! 

Widow  :    Why  impossible  ?    I  was  bom  in  India. 

General  :  God  bless  my  soul !  Ah !  but  you  had  to  leave 
it  at  a  very  early  age.  Children  of  your  generation  were 
always  sent  home  to  school.  (Aside.)  And  a  great  relief 
it  was ! 

Widow  (aside)  :  My  generation?  What  does  he  mean 
by  my  generation? 

General  :    And  I  didn't  go  out  until  I  joined  the  service. 

Widow  :  Ah !  then  we  must  have  arrived  in  India  about 
the  same  time. 

General  :    Yes,  but  not  by  the  same  route,  ma'am. 

Widow  :  But  it  was  in  England  that  I  knew  you.  Don't 
you  remember  Wilsford,  Captain 

General:  Major-General,  ma'am — Major-General,  re- 
tired !  Yes,  I  do  remember  Wilsford,  but  ages  ago — ages 
ago. 

Widow  :  You  were  at  home  on  sick  leave,  and  we  played 
croquet. 

General:    Croquet!    I?    Never!    Croquet! 


CUPID.  M.  D.  93 

Widow  :  Indeed  you  did !  And  when  I  was  croqueted  into 
the  bushes  you  used  to  help  me  out. 

General  :  God  bless  my  soul !  Why,  you're  never  little 
Mary? 

Widow  :    Yes,  I  am — little  Mary. 

General:    But  you've  grown. 

Widow  :    People  do  grow  in  thirty  years,  General. 

General:  Major-General!  So  you  are  little  Mary? 
Well,  well!    I've  forgotten  what  your  other  name  was. 

Widow  :  It  does  not  matter.  I  have  changed  it  since 
those  days. 

General:    You're  married? 

Widow  :    I  have  been. 

General  {aside)  :  I  was  right,  then.  I  thought  so.  She 
is  a  widow. 

Widow  :    And  you  are  much  older  than  you  were. 

General:  Not  a  bit!  All  our  family  turn  gray  young. 
Thirty  years  ago,  thirty  years  ago!  Perhaps  you're  right. 
Why,  I  must  be  getting  a  battered  old  thing.  I've  had  fever 
and  ague,  sword  wounds  from  the  Afghans  and  bullet 
wounds  from  the  Dervishes.    I've  got  a  slug  about  me  now. 

Widow  {starting):  Good  heavens!  The  horrid  crea- 
ture !  How  can  you  touch  such  a  horrid,  slimy  thing  ?  Don't 
let  it  loose.  General ! 

General:  Major-General!  {Aside:  Is  she  mad?)  I 
wish  I  could  get  at  it.  A  man  doesn't  carry  a  bullet  in  his 
body  if  he  can  get  rid  of  it. 

Widow:    A  bullet?    I  thought  you  said  a  slug? 

General:  So  I  did.  They're  the  same  thing,  aren't 
they?    (Aside:    She's  mad!) 

Widow  :  I'm  so  glad  it's  only  a  bullet !  I  thought  it  was  a 
slug,  and  never  could  bear  snakes ;  they  get  on  my  nerves  so. 

General  {aside)  :  Snakes?  Get  on  her  nerves?  She's 
not  mad.  She's  a  dipsomaniac,  and  old  Thingumajig  is  treat- 
ing her  for  it.  And  little  Mary  has  come  to  this !  A  dipso- 
maniac ! 

Widow:    My  nerves  are  so  shattered! 

General  (aside)  :    They  call  it  nerves,  do  they? 


94  THE    DOCTOR'S    DOMICILE 

Widow  :    And  the  doctor  is  so  clever  with  nerves. 

General  :    I  dare  say !    He  tells  you  what  to  avoid  ? 

Widow  :    Yes  ;  one  or  two  things. 

General:  Of  course.  (Aside.)  Nips  between  meals. 
Well,  she  doesn't  mind  acknowledging  it.  But  fancy  little 
Mary  ending  as  a  dipsomaniac ! 

Widow  :    And  you — are  you  also  a  patient  ? 

General  :     Yes ;  but  not  from  the  same  complaint. 

Widow  :  No ;  of  course  not !  Men  never  suffer  from 
nerves. 

General:  Don't  they?  I've  known  one  or  two.  But, 
then,  it's  called  by  another  name  when  men  suflFer  from  it. 

Widow:    Ah,  I  suppose  so !    It  isn't  your  complaint? 

General:    Good  Lord,  no!    I  have  a  touch  of  liver. 

Widow  :  Ah,  you  want  to  be  taken  care  of  I  You  ought 
to  have  married,  General. 

General  :  Major-General !  Not  I,  ma'am.  Bad  thing 
to  marry  too  young.    Nothing  ages  a  man  so  much. 

Widow  :  But  a  lonely  old  man  is  a  very  sad  thing,  don't 
you  think? 

General  :  Perhaps,  perhaps ;  but  not  so  bad  as  a  hen- 
pecked old  man.  A  man  should  never  marry  until  he's  come 
to  years  of  discretion.  (Pause.)  Do  you  know,  I've  a  sort 
of  recollection — weren't  we — a — um — engaged  in  a  sort  of 
a  kind  of  a  way  ? 

Widow  :  In  the  usual  way,  I  believe.  You  surely  hadn't 
forgotten  that? 

General:  Of  course  not!  But  thirty  years  is  a  long 
time  ago. 

Widow-  :     I  believe  you  had  forgotten  little  Mary ! 

General  :  But  you  married  some  one  else.  I  couldn't 
be  expected  to  remember  a  girl  who  married  some  one  else. 
There  are  so  many  girls  who  do  that. 

Widow  :    But  I  didn't  want  to  marry  anybody  else. 

General:  Now,  if  little  Mary  had  only  waited,  who 
knows  ? 

Widow  :    Little  Mary  can't  wait  forever. 

General:     They  say  patience  is  a  virtue. 


CUPID.  M.  D.  96 

Widow  :  Yes,  and  virtue  is  its  own  reward.  A  nice  sort 
of  a  reward  to  be  an  old  maid  all  one's  days. 

General  :  Well,  well !  You  recommend  marriage  for 
my  liver.  What  does  the  doctor  recommend  for  your  nerves? 

Widow:  Oh,  the  wretch!  He  has  cut  me  off  afternoon 
tea,  which  I  love,  and  ordered  me  whisky  and  soda,  which 
I  hate.    He  says  tea  has  ruined  my  nerves. 

General  (aside)  :  Then  she  isn't  a  dipsomaniac,  after  all ! 
(Aloud.)     He  does  not  recommend  marriage  to  you,  then? 

Widow  :    No,  not  in  so  many  words. 

General  :  That's  a  pity !  Well,  I  shall  think  over  what 
you've  said. 

Widow  :    Yes,  do ! 

General  :  Thirty  years  ago !  I  thought  of  marriage 
then,  when  I  was  only  a  captain  and  could  not  afford  it; 
and,  now  that  I'm  a  Major-General  retired  on  half  pay,  I 
suppose  marriage  will  not  think  of  me.  I  had  forgotten  all 
about  it  until  I  met  you  again. 

Widow  :    It's  never  too  late  to  mend,  General. 

General  :  Well,  I  might  mend  even  now,  but  it's  only  on 
one  condition. 

Widow:    Really?    What  is  that? 

General  :    That  you  find  me  another  little  Mary. 

Widow  :     I  don't  know.     I'll  see. 

General:    Instead  of  the  one  who  would  not  wait. 

Widow  :    Perhaps. 

General:  The  little  Mary  of  thirty  years  ago  would 
not  wait.    But  I  have  waited.  Ask  her  if  she  will  come  back. 

Widow  :    Oh,  General ! 

General:    Major-General  1 

Widow  :     She  will ;  I'm  sure  she  will — if  you  ask  her. 

General  :  Then  I  do  ask  her.  Come,  Mary !  ( They 
embrace.) 

Widow  :    And  what  about  the  doctor  ? 

General  :    We'll  be  our  own  doctors  for  the  future. 

Widow  :    And  the  butler — how  shall  we  pass  him  ? 

General:  I've  got  my  fee  here  in  paper.  I'll  slip  it  into 
his  hand  as  we  pass.    That'll  choke  him  oflf.    Come,  Mary, 


96  THE   DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

let  us  go  before  the  patient  is  released  and  I  am  summoned. 
(Picking  up  hat  and  stick.) 

Widow  :    But  your  liver? 

General  :  Oh,  I  haven't  time  to  think  about  that !  And 
your  nerves? 

Widow  :    I've  forgotten  all  about  them. 

Gener.\l  :  Ah,  Mary,  we  will  forget  the  years  that  have 
passed !  And  that  will  be  one  of  the  greatest  miracles  ever 
wrought  in  Harley  Street. 


WHEN  CHARLEY  CAUGHT  THE  COUGH 


HIS  Fond  Parents  had  talked  about  it  for  months, 
and  when  the  Child  finally,  actually,  started  for  his 
first  day  in  the  public  schools  that  morning,  they 
felt  that  a  distinct  step  in  the  world's  progress  had 
been  taken.  They  watched  him  out  of  sight  from  the  front 
windows  and  felt  exceedingly  proud  of  the  sturdy  little  fig- 
ure, topped  by  his  closely  trimmed  yellow  hair.  Nobody 
went  with  the  Child  to  school,  because  the  theory  on  which 
the  Fond  Parents  were  working  just  then  was  to  cultivate 
as  early  as  possible  his  independence  and  self-reliance. 

The  Child  enjoyed  it  greatly.  He  came  home  at  night 
enthusiastic  over  some  of  the  new  friends  he  had  made. 

"  'Reddy'  Edwards,"  he  assured  his  Mother,  "is  a  great 
kid.    I  belong  to  his  gang." 

"What  sort  of  a  boy  is  'Reddy'?"  asked  the  Fond  Mother. 

"He's  a  big  kid,  with  red  hair.  He  kin  lick  any  kid  in  the 
room.  He  licked  'Fatty'  Rawlins  at  recess  this  afternoon. 
'Fatty'  bawled,  and  then  he  started  to  cough.  He  coughed 
till  he  got  red  and  blue  in  the  face,  and  I'll  bet  he  won't  try 
to  fool  with  any  of  the  kids  in  our  gang  again." 

The  Fond  Mother,  with  maternal  intuition,  felt  sure  that 
the  Child  had  been  exposed  to  some  malignant  disease,  and 
told  her  husband  so  when  he  got  home  from  his  day  on  the 
Board  of  Trade. 

"Nonsense,"  said  he.  "It  couldn't  be  anything  worse  than 
whooping-cough,  anyway,  and  every  boy  has  to  have  that 
before  he  amounts  to  anything.  I'd  be  glad  if  Charley  did 
catch  it." 

Ten  days  passed.  Then  Charley  woke  up  in  the  middle 
of  the  night  with  a  sore  throat.  He  had  never  been  sick 
before,  but  his  mother  knew  in  an  instant  what  was  the 
matter  with  him.    It  was  croup.    For  the  six  years  of  Char- 

97 


98  THE  DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

ley's  existence  she  had  been  preparing  for  an  emergency  of 
this  kind.  Five  distinct  and  separate  sure  cures  for  croup 
were  on  hand,  and  within  ten  minutes  the  family  doctor  had 
been  aroused  by  telephone  and  had  added  his  advice  on  the 
situation. 

"I'll  come  down  in  the  mommg,"  he  said,  "unless  some- 
thing more  develops  before.  Meanwhile  follow  my  direc- 
tions." 

Finally  the  Child  got  to  sleep  and  seemed  much  better 
when  the  doctor  came  in  the  morning.  After  a  fierce  strug- 
gle he  allowed  his  mouth  to  be  pried  open  with  a  tablespoon 
while  the  doctor  gazed  wisely  down  into  the  exposed  cavity. 

"It's  just  possible,"  said  the  doctor,  finally,  "that  it's 
whooping-cough.  Keep  him  in  the  house  a  few  days  and 
we'll  see." 

The  idea  seemed  to  amuse  the  Fond  Father  greatly. 

"Whooping-cough,  eh?"  he  said.  "Well,  that's  a  pretty 
good  joke,  isn't  it,  doctor?  Nothing  much  to  do,  is  there, 
except  just  to  let  the  little  cuss  cough?" 

The  doctor  expressed  his  opinion  that  the  disease  was  not 
likely  to  be  serious,  though  it  might  prove  to  be  tedious. 
Then  he  took  his  departure.  A  few  days  later  it  developed 
so  that  there  was  no  longer  any  doubt.  Little  Charley 
showed  himself  possessed  of  an  amount  of  lung  power  whicli 
was  surprising.  Three  of  four  times  a  night  he  awoke  his 
Parents,  and  most  of  the  people  in  the  flat  building,  with  a 
series  of  shrill  and  penetrating  whoops,  which  would  have 
done  credit  to  a  siren  steam  whistle.  After  the  Fond  Father 
had  leaped  suddenly  out  of  his  warm  bed  on  an  average  of 
six  times  each  night  for  three  weeks  it  began  to  lose  some 
of  its  humorous  effect  and  grew  somewhat  monotonous.  He 
went  to  see  the  doctor. 

"Is  there  nothing  we  can  do  to  stop  the  infernal  whoop- 
ing?" he  said. 

"There  are  267  specifics  for  whooping-cough  laid  down 
in  the  books,"  the  doctor  said  with  a  smile.  "We  might  try 
some  of  them."    Then  he  wrote  a  prescription. 

Next  day  a  friend  to  whom  the  Fond  Father  told  his 


WHEN  CHARLEY  CAUGHT  THE  COUGH    99 

troubles  gave  him  a  certain  remedy.  He  was  to  get  a  cer- 
tain decoction  of  black  tar  and  sulphur  and  burn  a  pint  of  it 
in  the  sleeping  rooms,  every  night  before  going  to  bed.  The 
Fond  Father  tried  it.  He  thought  he  might  as  well  make 
the  trial  good  and  strong  while  he  was  about  it,  so  he  got  a 
quart  of  the  stuff  instead  of  a  pint,  and  set  it  going  at  ten 
o'clock.  His  friend  had  warned  him  that  the  odor  might 
seem  unpleasant  at  first,  but  they  would  soon  get  used  to  it, 
and  before  the  cough  was  cured  they  would  get  so  they 
would  like  it.  But  for  this  warning  it  is  doubtful  if  either 
of  the  Fond  Parents  could  have  stayed  in  the  neighborhood 
after  the  remedy  began  to  throw  off  its  clouds  of  thick  and 
stifling  black  vapor. 

It  spread  and  penetrated  all  through  the  flat,  and  it  was 
two  hours  before  any  member  of  the  family  could  get  to 
sleep.  Half  an  hour  later  they  were  aroused  by  a  furious 
ringing  at  the  front  door.  The  Fond  Father  rushed  to  the 
door  in  his  bath  robe  and  opened  it.  There  stood  the  janitor 
of  the  building  in  scanty  apparel  with  a  chemical  fire  extin- 
guisher strapped  to  his  back. 

"What's  on  fire  in  your  flat?"  he  said.  "Everybody  in  the 
building  has  been  smelling  smoke  for  an  hour  and  we've 
finally  traced  it  down  here." 

The  Fond  Father  smiled  weakly  and  said  he  supposed  it 
was  a  new  cure  for  whooping-cough  they  had  been  trying 
which  had  caused  the  trouble.  He  was  sorry  if  the  other 
tenants  had  been  disturbed. 

Next  morning  when  he  got  up  he  had  a  slight  tickling  in 
his  own  throat,  due,  no  doubt,  as  he  concluded,  to  the  effects 
of  the  tar  vapors  of  the  night  before.  But  the  tickling  did 
not  leave  him  during  the  day.  In  fact,  it  was  worse  when 
he  got  home  that  night.  After  dinner  he  even  coughed  a 
little.    Then  an  awful  thought  struck  him. 

"Whooping-cough  is  exclusively  a  child's  disease,  isn't 
it?"  he  asked  his  wife  artlessly. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  promptly  answered.  "When  I  had  it  my 
father  caught  it  from  me,  and  I  remember  he  almost 
coughed  his  head  off  before  it  was  cured." 


100  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

He  spent  the  next  two  or  three  days  in  trying  to  prevent 
himself  from  coughing  while  at  home,  though  on  the  streets 
and  down-town  he  gave  free  vent  to  unmistakable  whoops. 
Finally,  he  confessed  to  his  wife,  and  then  he  felt  free  to 
add  his  deep  bass  whoops  to  the  treble  explosions  of  the 
Child.  Shortly  it  dawned  upon  the  Fond  Father  that  whoop- 
ing-cough was  not  a  joking  matter.  He  coughed  sometimes 
till  he  was  purple  and  black  in  the  face,  and  finally,  in  shame 
and  despair,  he  called  one  evening  at  the  doctor's  office. 

"Doctor,"  he  began,  "I  think  I'm  going  to  die.    I — " 

A  spasm  of  coughing  seized  him  just  then  and  he  gave  a 
demonstration  in  the  whooping  line  which  was  strong  and 
convincing. 

"Oh,  whooping-cough  is  just  a  joke,  you  know,"  said  the 
hard-hearted  physician.    "It  does  a  boy  good  to  have  it." 

But  the  Fond  Father  was  beyond  feeling  any  insult.  He 
begged  for  something  to  help  his  cough,  and  finally  he  got  it. 
Then  things  went  on  a  little  more  easily  for  a  few  days. 
Finally  it  got  so  that  if  either  the  Fond  Parent  or  the  Child 
commenced  to  cough  in  the  presence  of  the  other,  the  second 
invalid  would  immediately  start  whooping  as  if  in  sympathy. 

But  not  even  yet  had  the  climax  arrived.  It  was  when 
the  recent  corn  corner  was  at  its  height  and  the  Fond  Father 
had  accumulated  a  fairly  large  line  of  the  cereal,  which  he 
was  waiting  to  sell  at  a  big  advance.  One  night  he  got  a 
"tip"  that  the  corner  would  be  broken  the  next  day.  He 
went  down  to  the  board  the  next  morning  prepared  for 
action.  He  knew  that  he  must  dispose  of  his  stuff  in  the 
first  few  minutes  of  the  session,  if  he  wished  to  clean  up  the 
handsome  profit  which  he  had  on  paper.  Finally  business 
began  in  the  corn  pit,  and  he  plunged  into  the  thick  of  it. 
The  first  sales  showed  that  the  price  was  still  at  the  top 
notch,  and  he  determined  to  unload  without  a  moment's  de- 
lay. The  king  of  the  corner  had  just  sold  50,000  at  the  top, 
and  everything  seemed  propitious.  His  hand  was  raised,  and 
he  was  about  to  shriek  out  his  offer  when  he  felt  that  terri- 
ble tickling  in  his  throa.t.  He  crushed  it  down  with  a  mighty 
effort. 


WHEN  CHARLEY  CAUGHT  THE  COUGH  loi 

"One  hundred  thou—" 

The  cough  seized  him  in  its  reinorseless  ^ip.  ,  He  bent 
over  nearly  double  with  the  paroxysm: '  The  other  frantic 
brokers  pushed  and  shoved  him  out  of  the  way,  He  3tood 
on  the  bottom  step  of  the  pit  and  whcJop'cd'for  a  soHd  nV'tiUte. 
In  the  babel  of  voices  the  sound  of  his  coughing  was  entirely 
swallowed  up  and  lost.  He  could  hear,  even  as  he  shook 
and  strained  with  effort,  the  pit  break  out  into  a  fresh  riot 
of  confusion.  The  corner  had  broken.  Corn  had  dropped 
15  cents  in  two  minutes.  The  Fond  Father  was  barely  able 
to  save  his  distance  by  letting  go  his  holdings  at  the  low 
figure. 

The  family  has  now  recovered  its  normal  condition  of 
health.  But  little  Charley  is  now  being  reared  on  the  "shel- 
tered and  protected"  policy,  while  the  Fond  Father  sees 
nothing  approaching  humor,  in  any  jest  about  the  diseases 
of  children. 


" '      PA  BECOMES  A  BOY  AGAIN 


WHEN  paw  come  Home  last  nite  He  says  to  maw: 
"Well  I  been  up  against  it." 
Maw  she  turned  pail  and  says : 
"Hen  Moffit,  you  Don't  mean  to  Say  you've  went 
and  Spoilt  that  new  seven-teen-doler  soot  of  close." 

Paw  looked  like  Johnny  Pickens  Did  when  the  Teacher 
ast  Him  How  menny  is  Nine  Times  Six.  But  purty  soon 
He  says : 

"What  do  you  Mean  ?" 

"Have  you  Been  up  against  some  paint?"  maw  ast. 

Then  paw  Laf t  and  says : 

"Naw.  I  mean  I  Been  Up  aginst  the  Cure  fer  old  age.  I 
Got  a  Few  Goat  Sells  threw  into  my  systum." 

"Well,"  says  Maw,  "if  you  could  git  to  talkin"  plane 
Inglish  insted  of  that  Slang  what  Seems  to  Be  the  Diplo- 
matic Language  in  the  Surcles  where  you  associate  mebby 
a  Person  could  understand  what  you  mean  wunst  in  a  While. 
What  Goat  Sells  are  you  talkin'  about,  and  How  on  erth 
Did  They  threw  them  Into  your  Systum?" 

"Why  Don't  you  read  the  Papers?"  Paw  ast.  "If  you 
Done  that  Sometimes  insted  of  Spendin'  so  much  time  Find- 
in'  Out  What  the  Nabers  are  Doin'  mebby  a  Feller  wouldent 
Haft  to  Give  you  a  Diagram  every  Time  He  Sed  ennything 
about  What  was  goin'  on.  They  are  Some  Doctors  Here 
what  Have  discuvered  How  a  Person  Don't  never  need  to 
Git  into  His  second  Childhood.  They  Git  a  Goat  and  make 
Him  Give  up  what  Sells  He  can  Spair  jist  as  well  as  not,  and 
Then  they  take  and  Squirt  Them  into  a  Man's  Arm,  and 
the  First  Thing  you  no  His  nees  Begins  to  Git  Limber  and 
He  Kicks  up  His  Heels,  and  little  Brown  Hares  Begins  to 
Sprout  out  on  the  Bald  Spot  up  on  the  Back  of  His  Hed, 
and  purt)'  soon  He's  a  Boy  agin.     Jim  Thurston  Down  to 

102 


PA  BECOMES   A   BOY  AGAIN  103 

the  oflSce  knows  one  of  the  Doctors,  so  He  Told  me  if  I 
would  Go  with  Him  we'd  Git  a  Few  Sells  pumped  into  us 
and  See  How  it  Would  work.  It's  Grait  stuflF.  They  ain't 
no  mistake  about  That." 

Then  Paw  Grabbed  maw  and  Begin  Waltzin'  around  the 
room  To  show  Her  How  young  He  felt,  and  She  Broke 
away  when  she  Was  all  out  of  Breth  and  says : 

"I  Don't  no  whether  Them  Sells  Can  Turn  a  Man  Back 
into  a  Boy  or  not,  but  they  ain't  no  mistake  they  can  make 
a  good  Deal  of  a  Gote  out  of  Him." 

Paw  he  laft,  and  then  He  walked  under  the  Chandeleer 
and  Says: 

"Do  you  see  this  Here  Gas  Bracket?  It's  three  Inches 
abuv  my  Hed,  But  I'll  Bet  I  can  kick  it." 

So  He  Hauled  Back  and  let  Go,  and  the  rug  Slipt  on  the 
Hard  floor  and  I  ain't  Sure  Whether  Paw  turned  one  or 
Two  Summer  sets  Before  He  come  Down.  Mebby  it  might 
of  Been  three.  But  enny  way  He  lit  on  the  Back  of  His  neck, 
and  Dident  Seem  to  take  no  interest  in  Ennything  fer  a 
Long  time. 

Maw  She  was  Bathin'  Him  With  witch  hazel  and  Camfer 
and  Vinnegar  and  a  lot  of  other  things  nearly  all  nite,  and 
Jist  Before  I  went  to  Bed  I  thot  I'd  Cheer  Him  Up  a  little, 
so  I  stuck  my  Hed  in  the  Dor  and  said : 

"Ba-a-a-a!" 

"When  i  git  up  agin,"  paw  says  to  maw,  "I'm  agoin  to 
Take  that  Boy  and  Whail  the  Livver  out  of  Him  but  what 
I'll  make  Him  Lurn  to  respect  His  fawther." 

I  never  seen  anybuddy  That  was  as  touchy  as  paw. 

Georgie. 


A  CHINESE  PHYSICIAN 


M 


Y  first  acquaintance  in  the  medical  profession  of  the 
Middle  Kingdom  was  Ong  Ah  Chin  Peh  Tsai,  pop- 
ularly known  as  Ah  Chin.  He  was  about  fifty 
years  old,  tall,  slender  and  dignified.    He  belonged 


to  the  mandarin  class,  having  taken  the  second,  or  Kyn-jin, 
degree.  His  medical  knowledge  was  hereditary,  if  I  may 
use  a  bull,  his  father,  grandfather,  and  other  ancestors  hav- 
ing been  members  of  the  profession.  With  the  curious  in- 
stinct begotten  by  ancestor  worship,  he  credited  his  success 
in  life,  not  to  his  father,  whose  assistant  he  had  been,  but  to 
his  grandfather,  who  had  died  before  Ah  Chin  had  reached 
manhood's  estate.  He  had  a  large  practise  and  enjoyed  a 
professional  income  of  probably  twenty-five  hundred  a  year, 
which  is  the  equivalent  of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  in 
our  Western  civilization.  He  was  popular  and  had  a  de- 
served reputation  for  generosity  and  kindness  to  the  poor. 
His  dress  was  simple,  but  very  neat.  He  was  entitled  to 
wear  a  plastron  on  his  coat,  as  well  as  a  button  in  his  cap, 
but  he  contented  himself  with  the  latter  ornament  alone. 
It  took  some  time  to  break  the  ice  with  him,  but  after  a  while 
his  confidence  was  won  and  in  his  leisure  hours  he  would 
talk  freely  with  a  few  of  us  Western  barbarians  upon  his 
profession. 

There  were  some  topics  upon  which  he  preserved  a  smil- 
ing silence.  These  were  professional  secrets  which  had 
come  down  in  his  family  and  which  he  would  transmit  invio- 
late as  valuable  property  to  his  oldest  son,  who  had  already 
entered  uopn  a  successful  medical  career.  The  limitations 
of  his  mental  horizon  were  very  curious  to  one  of  our  race. 
In  some  respects  he  had  wonderful  knowledge,  while  in 
others  he  was  so  ignorant  as  to  arouse  ridicule  or  pity.  He 
was  a  master  of  acupuncture  and  could  thrust  a  needle  into 

1Q4 


A    CHINESE    PHYSICIAN  105 

almost  every  part  of  the  human  frame  without  doing  any 
damage.  He  knew  what  the  Chinese  call  the  safe  points, 
the  dangerous  points,  and  the  dead  points.  He  had  learned 
these  by  practising  for  years  upon  a  manikin  which  was 
covered  with  opaque  wax,  concealing  the  apertures  which 
every  good  Chinese  surgeon  must  know.  And  yet  he  had 
very  little  idea  of  why  one  point  was  safe  and  another  per- 
ilous. 

He  knew  that  there  were  veins  and  arteries  in  the  body, 
but  he  knew  nothing  of  their  location  and  relation.  He 
knew  no  more  about  the  osseous  system  than  an  average 
American  boy,  but  he  did  know  considerable  about  the  joints 
and  how  to  treat  dislocations.  Of  hygiene  and  sanitation 
he  knew  nothing  and  did  not  care  about  them.  Outside  of 
his  own  house,  abutting  upon  the  wall  and  flowing  over  into 
his  yard,  was  a  pile  of  filth  and  garbage  whose  stench  could 
be  perceived  a  hundred  yards  away. 

He  was  very  much  interested  in  Western  medicine,  de- 
spising its  theory  and  practise  of  medication,  and  puzzling 
over  rather  than  admiring  its  surgery.  He  approved  of  the 
germ  theory  but  denied  that  the  microbes  were  microscopic 
creatures,  holding  very  vehemently  that  they  were  creatures 
intermediate  between  worms  and  snakes,  and  that  they  were 
the  causes  of  every  kind  of  fever.  He  believed  that  these 
snakes,  or  worms,  laid  many  eggs  which  passed  from  the 
patient's  body  through  the  bowels,  the  pores,  and  even  the 
lungs,  and  settled  in  other  bodies,  and  there  hatched  and 
attacked  the  new  surroundings.  He  was  quite  successful 
in  respect  to  several  complaints,  notably  rheumatism,  neu- 
ralgia, gout,  eczema,  ulcers,  carbuncles,  and  diarrheal  com- 
plaints. 

His  methods  for  rheumatism,  neuralgia,  and  gout  consisted 
in  the  liberal  use  of  hot  teas  and  broths  and  a  relinquish- 
ment of  all  ordinary  food.  In  most  of  the  fluids  there  was 
the  simplest  tonic,  ginseng;  in  others  there  were  aperients, 
which  apparently  were  impure  Epsom  salts ;  one  broth  con- 
tained peppermint  leaves,  chopped  almonds,  bay  leaves, 
honey,  blood,  and  wine.     So  far  as  I  could  make  out,  he 


io6  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

drenched  the  entire  gastric  system  with  immense  quantities 
of  hot  water,  washing  out  the  entire  body  in  that  way,  and 
relied  upon  the  elements  added  to  the  water,  for  medicinal 
action  as  well  as  for  nourishment.  In  treating  eczema  he 
distinguished  between  an  inflamed  skin  from  which  blood 
came  at  points  and  one  from  which  merely  lymph  came. 
To  the  former  he  applied  a  paste  made  of  pitch,  peppermint, 
and  some  oils,  and  to  the  latter  a  paste  made  of  raw  eggs, 
honey,  calcined  kaolin,  peppermint  oil,  laudanum,  and  other 
substances.  After  the  preparations  were  applied,  the  surface 
was  covered  with  thin  brown  tissue  paper,  this  in  turn  with 
thick  brown  paper,  and  this  held  in  place  by  narrow  strips 
of  white  cotton  cloth.  The  heat  of  the  inflammation  dried 
the  clay  paste,  which  became  quite  hard  in  twenty-four  or 
thirty-six  hours.  He  broke  it  off  by  striking  it  with  a  little 
hammer,  and  then  applied  a  new  coating  to  the  raw  surface. 
An  ordinary  eczema  he  cured  in  a  week,  and  a  severe  one 
in  two  weeks. 

For  stomach-ache,  gastric  chills,  flatulency,  indigestion, 
and  most  forms  of  dyspepsia  he  had  a  treatment  which  was 
truly  heroic.  The  patient  lay  at  full  length,  and  the  doctor 
with  his  muscular  hands  pinched  the  body.  The  pinching 
was  done  with  the  thumb  and  forefinger,  or  between  the 
knuckles  of  the  forefinger  and  middle  finger.  I  must  say 
that  the  method,  though  cruel,  had  excellent  results.  There 
was  immediate  relief  and  a  very  speedy  cure. 

Ah  Chin  scarified,  as  do  all  Chinese  physicians,  but  did  it 
in  moderation.  He  used  aperients  in  large  quantities  and 
preached  the  unhealthfulness  of  constipation. 

For  catarrhal  troubles  he  used  warm  solutions  of  astrin- 
gents rendered  aseptic  by  peppermint  and  similar  oils,  and 
where  there  was  pain,  as  in  nasal  catarrh,  he  often  applied 
an  oil  into  which  he  had  put  tincture  of  opium.  For  some 
forms  of  dyspepsia  he  used  burned  paper.  The  paper  was  a 
thick  yellow  tissue  which,  when  burned,  left  a  fluffy  black 
ash  that  was  probably  one-half  carbon  and  the  rest  silica 
and  mineral  salts.  Occasionally,  perhaps  always,  he  wrote 
talismanic  characters  with  colored  pencils  on  the  paper.    At 


A    CHINESE    PHYSICIAN  107 

first  I  thought  the  talisman  was  merely  a  melodramatic  flour- 
ish, but  after  a  while  I  noticed  that  he  employed  different 
pencils,  and  that  each  pencil  was  made  of  a  substance  which, 
when  burned,  would  exercise  a  chemical  or  medicinal  influ- 
ence. The  vermilion  pencil  consisted  of  red  mercury ;  the 
brown  pencil  was  red  oxide  of  iron ;  the  white  pencil  con- 
tained carbonates  of  calcium  and  magnesium ;  another  pencil 
contained  some  salt  of  sodium,  an  impure  carbonate  if  I 
remember  aright.  The  pencils  had  blunt  points,  and  in 
writing  a  talisman  ten  or  twelve  grains  of  material  would 
be  transferred  to  the  paper.  When  it  was  burned  and  dif- 
fused in  a  cup  of  tea,  the  ingredient  would  pass  into  the 
stomach  along  with  the  carbon  of  the  paper. 

For  sores  and  ulcers  he  had  salves  of  various  sorts,  the 
active  ingredients  being  peppermint  oil,  pitch  oil,  camphor 
oil,  and  opium.  They  were  practically  a  simple  antiseptic 
and  disinfectant  dressing,  always  giving  relief  and  gener- 
ally assisting  Nature  in  effecting  a  prompt  recovery.  Take 
him  for  all  in  all,  Ah  Chin  seemed  to  me  much  like  the  poor 
leech  in  Romeo  and  Juliet.  He  had  about  the  same  range 
of  simples,  the  same  blind  trust  in  his  science,  and  the  same 
ignorance  of  the  higher  science  which  modem  therapeutics 
has  brought  into  being. 

William  E.  S.  Faas. 


SHE  WANTED  THE  DOCTOR 

^^  ii^IZABETH  is  more  than  plump.     She  is  gener- 

af  ^  I  ously  fat,  although  she  objects  to  the  word.  She 
has  refused  to  get  on  the  scales  ever  since  the  day 
they  flew  past  the  one-hundred-and-seventy-pound- 
mark  and  she  jumped  off  hastily.  No  one  knows,  therefore, 
how  much  Elizabeth  weighs,  Elizabeth  least  of  all.  But 
whereas  she  used  to  fly  gayly  up  and  down  the  two  flights 
of  stairs  leading  to  their  apartments,  she  now  lazily  walks ; 
and  whereas  once  an  extra  trip  to  the  corner  mail-box  or 
drug-store  meant  nothing  to  her,  she  now  gives  the  janitor's 
boy  a  penny  to  make  the  trip,  or  bribes  her  bachelor-girl 
associates  to  go,  or  does  bravely  without  the  stamp  or  the 
candy  or  the  ginger  cookies. 

One  night  last  week  she  sat  up  late  writing  letters  which 
she  decided  had  to  be  posted  at  once.  Jean  and  Ellen  had 
long  since  retired  and  so  Elizabeth  threw  a  shawl  about  her 
and  crept  softly  down  the  stairs.  She  posted  her  letters 
and  was  half  way  back  when  suddenly  on  the  deserted  street 
appeared  before  her  a  distraught  woman  carrying  with  all 
tenderness  a  shawl-wrapped  bundle. 

"Oh,  can  you  tell  me  where  Dr.  Hunter  lives?"  she  cried 
softly.  "I  didn't  wait  to  telephone,  even.  I  thought  I 
knew  just  where  he  lived,  but  I've  missed  it." 

Elizabeth's  heart  leaped  up  at  the  thought  of  suffering 
and  possible  danger. 

"I've  heard  the  name,"  she  said  quickly.  "I  know  he's 
around  here  somewhere.  I'm  almost  positive  that  one  of  the 
girls  can  tell  me  about  him.  Wait  outside  that  door  yonder 
and  I'll  go  on  ahead  and  find  out."  So  away  sped  Elizabeth. 
She  ran  down  the  street  and  into  the  flat  building.  She 
rushed  up  the  two  flights  of  stairs  pell-mell,  regardless  of 
all  impediments  to  swiftness. 

io8 


WANTED    THE    DOCTOR  109 

"Girls,"  she  cried  aloud,  as  she  burst  into  their  apart- 
ments, "wake  up,  quick.  Where  does  Dr.  Hunter  live,  do 
either  of  you  know?    Quick!" 

Jean  and  Ellen  sat  upright  with  hearts  that  refused  to 
pump.  Jean  told  her  what  she  wanted  to  know,  and  without 
so  much  as  a  decent  "thank  you"  Elizabeth  turned  and  fled. 

"You  will  have  to  go  down  the  street  two  blocks,"  she 
explained  to  the  waiting  woman  below.  "You  can't  miss 
the  house,  for  there's  an  electric  light  over  the  sign.  I  do 
hope  the  little  thing  isn't  dangerously  ill." 

The  woman  murmured  a  grateful  word  and  Elizabeth 
toiled  up  the  stairs,  to  find  at  the  head  of  the  last  flight  two 
frightened,  half-dressed  girls  who  fell  on  her  in  wrath. 

"Sorry  I  scared  you,"  panted  Elizabeth,  sitting  gratefully 
down  on  the  top  step.  "I  didn't  have  time  to  wait.  Poor 
woman  down  there.  Sick  baby  in  her  arms.  Didn't  know 
where  on  earth  to  find — " 

"Elizabeth  Fuller !"  cried  Jean,  "you've  sent  her  to  a  vet- 
erinary doctor!" 

Elizabeth  stared  for  a  second,  then  she  started  up.  "I 
must  catch  her,"  she  said.  "The  poor  thing!  Those  two 
long  blocks  and  then  disappointment  at  the  end,  and  maybe 
the  baby  dead  or  dying." 

With  entire  disregard  of  herself  she  flew  down  the  steps 
again  and  out  on  the  street.  Under  the  electric  light  at  the 
crossing  she  saw  the  hastening  woman.  Elizabeth  called. 
In  vain.  Elizabeth  ran.  Elizabeth  had  read  of  flesh  cures 
where  fat  ladies  are  put  on  a  racetrack  and  are  told  to  trot 
merrily  about,  and  she  had  always  declared  that  whenever 
she  ran  a  step  her  days  of  sanity  were  numbered.  Yet  she 
ran  that  night  two  whole  blocks,  for  she  did  not  catch  up 
with  the  woman  till  the  latter  stood  on  the  doctor's  doorstep. 
She  turned  at  the  sound  of  the  flying  feet  and  saw  Elizabeth. 

"I  think  he's  all  right,"  she  said,  without  surprise  and 
with  what  Elizabeth  thought  the  sublime  assurance  of  moth- 
erhood. She  put  back  the  shawl  softly.  "Poor  little  Baby 
Blue!"  she  murmured,  and  then  there  fell  on  Elizabeth's 


no  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

ears,  even  before  she  had  time  to  speak  and  tell  her  errand, 
a  faint,  plaintive,  but  decisive  "mew." 

"Oh !"  gasped  that  portly  young  woman.  Then  she  reeled 
home  and  up  those  endless  stairs.  "She  knew  the  doctor 
she  wanted,"  Elizabeth  announced  wearily.    "It  was  a  cat." 


DOCTOR 


RABBI  told  me ;  on  the  day  allowed 
Satan  for  carping  at  God's  rule,  he  came, 
Fresh  from  our  earth,  to  brave  the  angel-crowd. 

"What  is  the  fault  now?"    "This  I  find  to  blame: 
Many  and  various  are  the  tongues  below, 
Yet  all  agree  in  one  speech,  all  proclaim 

"  'Hell  has  no  might  to  match  what  earth  can  show : 
Death  is  the  strongest-born  of  Hell,  and  yet 
Stronger  than  Death  is  a  Bad  Wife,  we  know.' 

"Is  it  a  wonder  if  I  fume  and  fret — 
Robbed  of  my  rights,  since  Death  am  I,  and  mine 
The  style  of  Strongest?    Men  pay  Nature's  debt 

"Because  they  must  at  my  demand ;  decline 
To  pay  it  henceforth  surely  men  will  please. 
Provided  husbands  with  bad  wives  combine 

"To  bafiBe  Death.    Judge  between  me  and  these!" 
"Thyself  shalt  judge.    Descend  to  earth  in  shape 
Of  mortal,  marry,  drain  from  froth  to  lees 

"The  bitter  draught,  then  see  if  thou  escape 
Concluding,  with  men  sorrowful  and  sage, 
A  Bad  Wife's  strength  Death's  self  in  vain  would  ape !" 

How  Satan  entered  on  his  pilgrimage. 

Conformed  himself  to  earthly  ordinance, 

Wived  and  played  husband  well  from  youth  to  age 

Intrepidly — I  leave  untold;  advance 
Through  many  a  married  year  until  I  reach 
A  day  when — of  his  father's  countenance 

The  very  image,  like  him  too  in  speech 

As  well  as  thought  and  deed, — the  union's  fruit 

Attained  maturity.    "I  needs  must  teach 

"My  son  a  trade :  but  trade,  such  a  son  to  suit. 
Needs  seeking  after.    He  a  man  of  war? 
Too  cowardly !    A  lawyer  wins  repute — 
III 


112  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"Having  to  toil  and  moil,  though — both  which  are 
Beyond  this  sluggard.    There's  Divinity : 
No,  that's  my  own  bread-winner — that  be  far 

'From  my  poor  offspring!     Physic?     Ha,  we'll  try 
If  this  be  practicable.     Where's  my  wit? 
Asleep? — since,  now  I  come  to  think — Ay,  ay! 

"Hither,  my  son !  Exactly  have  I  hit 
On  a  profession  for  thee.  Mcdicus — 
Behold,  thou  art  appointed !    Yea,  I  spit 

"Upon  thine  eyes,  bestow  a  virtue  thus 
That  henceforth  not  this  human  form  I  wear 
Shalt  thou  perceive  alone,  but — one  of  us 

"By  privilege— thy  fleshly  sight  shall  bear 
Me  in  my  spirit-person  as  I  walk 
The  world  and  take  my  prey  appointed  there. 

"Doctor  once  dubbed — what  ignorance  shall  balk 
Thy  march  triumphant?    Diagnose  the  gout 
As  colic,  and  prescribe  it  cheese  or  chalk — 

"No  matter!    All's  one:    cure  shall  come  about 
And  win  thee  wealth — fees  paid  with  such  a  roar 
Of  thanks  and  praise,  alike  from  lord  and  lout, 

"As  never  stunned  man's  ears  on  earth  before. 
'How  may  this  be?'    Why,  that's  my  skeptic!     Soon 
Truth  will  corrupt  thee,  soon  thou  doubt'st  no  more  1 

"Why  is  it  I  bestow  on  thee  the  boon 
Of  recognizing  me  the  while  I  go 
Invisibly  among  men,  morning,  noon, 

"And  night,  from  house  to  house,  and — quick  or  slow — 
Take  my  appointed  prey?    They  summon  thee 
For  help,  suppose :  obey  the  summons  !  so ! 

"Enter,  look  round  !    Where's  Death  ?    Know — I  am  he, 
Satan  who  works  all  evil :  I  who  bring 
Pain  to  the  patient  in  whate'er  degree. 

"I,  then,  am  there :  first  glance  thine  eyes  shall  fling 
Will  find  me — whether  distant  or  at  hand, 
As  I  am  free  to  do  my  spiriting. 


DOCTOR  113 

"At  such  mere  first  glance,  thou  shalt  understand 
Wherefore  I  reach  no  higher  up  the  room 
Than  door  or  window,  when  my  form  is  scanned; 

"Howe'er  friends'  faces  please  to  gather  gloom, 
Bent  o'er  the  sick, — howe'er  himself  desponds, — 
In  such  case,  Death  is  not  the  sufferer's  doom. 

"Contrariwise,  do  friends  rejoice  my  bonds 
Are  broken,  does  the  captive  in  his  turn 
Crow  'Life  shall  conquer !'    Nip  these  foolish  frond* 

"Of  hope  a-sprout,  if  haply  thou  discern 
Me  at  the  head — my  victim's  head — be  sure ! 
Forth  now !    This  taught  thee,  little  else  to  learn !" 

And  forth  he  went.    Folk  heard  him  ask  demure, 
"How  do  you  style  this  ailment?    (There  he  peeps. 
My  father  through  the  arras!)     Sirs,  the  cure 

"Is  plain  as  A  B  C I    Experience  steeps 
Blossoms  of  pennyroyal  half  an  hour 
In  sherris.    Sumat! — Lo,  how  sound  he  sleeps — 

"The  subject  you  presumed  was  past  the  power 
Of  Galen  to  relieve!"     Or  else,  "How's  this? 
Why  call  for  help  so  tardily?    Clouds  lour 

"Portentously  indeed,  Sirs!     (Naught's  amiss: 
He's  at  the  bed-foot  merely.)     Still,  the  storm 
May  pass  averted — not  by  quacks,  I  wis, 

"Like  you,  my  masters!     You,  forsooth,  perform 
A  miracle?     Stand,  sciolists,  aside! 
Blood,  ne'er  so  cold,  at  ignorance  grows  warm  I" 

Which  boasting  my  result  was  justified. 

Big  as  might  words  be :  whether  drugged  or  left 

Drugless,  the  patient  always  lived,  not  died. 

Great  the  heir's  gratitude,  so  nigh  bereft 

Of  all  he  prized  in  this  world :  sweet  the  smile 

Of  disconcerted  rivals:     "Cure? — say,  theft 

"From  Nature  despite  of  Art — so  style 
This  off-hand  kill-or-cure  work!    You  did  much, 
I  had  done  more:  folk  cannot  wait  a  while!" 


114  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

But  did  the  case  change?  was  it — "Scarcely  such 

The  symptoms  as  to  warrant  recourse 

To  your  skill,  Doctor!    Yet  since  just  a  touch 

"Of  pulse,  a  taste  of  breath,  has  all  the  force 
With  you  of  long  investigation  claimed 
By  others, — tracks  an  ailment  to  its  source 

"Intuitively, — ^may  we  ask  unblamed 
What  from  this  pimple  you  prognosticate?" 
"Death  !"  was  the  answer,  as  he  saw  and  named 

The  coucher  by  the  sick  man's  head.    "Too  late 
You  send  for  my  assistance.    I  am  bold 
Only  by  Nature's  leave,  and  bow  to  Fate  1 

"Besides,  you  have  my  rivals :  lavish  gold  I 
How  comfortably  quick  shall  life  depart 
Cosseted  by  attentions  manifold  I 

"One  day,  one  hour  ago,  perchance  my  art 
Had  done  some  service.    Since  you  have  yourselves 
Chosen — before  the  horse — to  put  the  cart, 

"Why,  Sirs,  the  sooner  that  the  sexton  delves 
Your  patient's  grave  the  better  1    How  you  stare — 
Shallow,  for  all  the  deep  books  on  your  shelves ! 

"Fare  you  well,  fumblers !"  Do  I  need  declare 
What  name  and  fame,  what  riches  recompensed 
The  Doctor's  practice?     Never  anywhere 

Such  an  adept  as  daily  evidenced 

Each  new  vaticination  I    Oh,  not  he 

Like  dolts  who  dallied  with  their  scruples,  fenced 

With  subterfuge,  nor  gave  out  frank  and  free 
Something  decisive  I    If  he  said  "I  save 
The  patient,"  saved  he  was :  if  "Death  will  be 

"His  portion,"  you  might  count  him  dead.    Thus  brave, 
Behold  our  worthy,  sans  competitor 
Throughout  the  country,  on  the  architrave 

Of  Glory's  temple  golden-lettered  for 

Machaon  redivivus!    So,  it  fell 
That,  of  a  sudden,  when  the  Emperor 


DOCTOR  IIS 

Was  smit  by  sore  disease,  I  need  not  tell 

If  any  other  doctor's  aid  was  sought 

To  come  and  forthwith  make  the  sick  Prince  welL 

"He  will  reward  thee  as  a  monarch  ought, 
Not  much  imports  the  malady;  but  then. 
He  clings  to  life  and  cries  like  one  distraught 

'Tor  thee — who,  from  a  simple  citizen, 
May'st  look  to  rise  in  rank, — nay,  haply  wear 
A  medal  with  his  portrait, — always  when 

"Recovery  is  quite  accomplished.    There ! 
Pass  to  the  presence !"    Hardly  has  he  crossed 
The  chamber's  threshold  when  he  halts,  aware 

Of  who  stands  sentry  by  the  head.    All's  lost! 
"Sire,  naught  avails  my  art:  you  near  the  goal. 
And  end  the  race  by  giving  up  the  ghost." 

"How?"  cried  the  monarch :    "Names  upon  your  roll 
Of  half  my  subjects  rescued  by  your  skill — 
Old  and  young,  rich  and  poor — crowd  cheek  by  jowl 

"And  yet  no  room  for  mine?    Be  saved  I  will  1 
Why  else  am  I  earth's  foremost  potentate? 
Add  me  to  these  and  take  as  fee  your  fill 

"Of  gold — that  point  admits  of  no  debate 
Between  us :  save  me,  as  you  can  and  must,— 
Gold,  till  your  gown's  pouch  cracks  beneath  the  weight !" 

This  touched  the  doctor.    "Truly  a  home-thrust. 
Parent,  you  will  not  parry !    Have  I  dared 
Entreat  that  you  forego  the  meal  of  dust — 

"Man  that  is  snake's  meat— when  I  saw  prepared 
Your  daily  portion?    Never !    Just  this  once, 
Go  from  his  head,  then,— let  his  life  be  spared !" 

Whisper  met  whisper  in  the  gruff  response  : 
"Fool,  I  must  have  my  prey :  no  inch  I  budge 
From  where  thou  see'st  me  thus  myself  ensconce." 

"Ah,"  moaned  the  sufferer,  "by  thy  look  I  judge 
Wealth  fails  to  tempt  thee :  what  if  honors  prove 
More  efficacious  ?    Naught  to  him  I  grudge 


n6  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

Who  saves  me.    Only  keep  my  head  above 

The  cloud  that's  creeping  up  around  it — I'll  divide 

My  empire  with  thee  I     No?    What's  left  but — love? 

"Does  love  allure  thee?    Well  then,  take  as  bride 
My  only  daughter,  fair  beyond  belief ! 
Save  me — to-morrow  shall  the  knot  be  tied !" 

"Father,  you  hear  him  I    Respite  ne'er  so  brief 
Is  all  I  beg :  go  now  and  come  again 
Next  day,  for  aught  I  care :  respect  the  grisf 

"Mine  will  be,  if  thy  first-born  sues  in  vain  I" 

"Fool,  I  must  have  my  prey !"  was  all  he  got 

In  answer.    But  a  fancy  crossed  his  brain. 

"I  have  it!    Sire,  methinks  a  meteor  shot 
Just  now  across  the  heavens  and  neutralized 
Jove's  salutary  influence ;  'neath  the  blot 

"Plump,  are  you  placed  now :  well  that  I  surmised 
The  cause  of  failure !    Knaves,  reverse  the  bed !" 
"Stay !"  groaned  the  monarch,  "I  shall  be  capsized — 

"Jolt — jolt — my  heels  uplift  where  late  my  head 
Was  lying — sure  I'm  turned  right  round  at  last! 
What  do  you  say  now,  doctor?"    Naught  he  said. 

For  why?    With  one  brisk  leap  the  Antic  passed 
From  couch-foot  back  to  pillow, — as  before. 
Lord  of  the  situation.     Long  aghast 

The  doctor  gazed,  then  "Yet  one  trial  more 
Is  left  me"  inwardly  he  uttered.    "Shame 
Upon  thy  flinty  heart !    Do  I  implore 

"This  trifling  favor  in  the  idle  name 
Of  mercy  to  the  moribund?  I  plead 
The  cause  of  all  thou  dost  aflect :  my  aim 

"Befits  my  author!    Why  would  I  succeed? 
Simply  that  by  success  I  may  promote 
The  growth  of  thy  pet  virtues — pride  and  greed. 

"But  keep  thy  favors ! — curse  thee ! — I  devote 
Henceforth  my  service  to  the  other  side. 
No  time  to  lose :  the  rattle's  in  his  throat 


DOCTOR  117 

"So, — not  to  leave  one  last  resource  untried, — 
Run  to  my  house  with  all  haste,  somebody  I 
Bring  me  that  knobstick  thence,  so  often  plied 

"With  profit  by  the  astrologer — shall  I 
Disdain  its  help,  the  mystic  Jacob's-Staff  ? 
Sire,  do  but  have  the  courage  not  to  die 

"Till  this  arrive !    Let  none  of  you  dare  laugh ! 
Though  rugged  its  exterior,  I  have  seen 
That  implement  work  wonders,  send  the  chaflE 

"Quick  and  thick  flying  from  the  wheat — I  mean. 
By  metaphor,  a  human  sheaf  it  threshed 
Flail-like.     Go  fetch  it !     Or — a  word  between 

Just  you  and  me,  friend ! — go  bid,  unabashed. 

My  mother,  whom  you'll  find  there,  bring  the  stick 

Herself — herself,  mind !"    Out  the  lackey  dashed 

Zealous  upon  the  errand.    Craft  and  trick 
Are  meat  and  drink  to  Satan :  and  he  grinned — 
How  else? — at  an  excuse  so  politic 

For  failure :  scarce  would  Jacob's-Staff  rescind 
Fate's  firm  decree !    And  ever  as  he  neared 
The  agonizing  one,  his  breath  like  wind 

Froze  to  the  marrow,  while  his  eye-flash  seared 
Sense  in  the  brain  up  :  closelier  and  more  close 
Pressing  his  prey,  when  at  the  door  appeared — 

Who  but  his  Wife  the  Bad?    Whereof  one  dose. 

One  grain,  one  mite  of  the  medicament. 

Sufficed  him.    Up  he  sprang.    One  word,  too  gross 

To  soil  my  lips  with, — and  through  ceiling  went 
Somehow  the  Husband.    "That  a  storm's  dispersed 
We  know  for  certain  by  the  sulphury  scent! 

"Hail  to  the  doctor !  Who  but  one  so  versed 
In  all  Dame  Nature's  secrets  had  prescribed 
The  staff  thus  opportunely?     Style  him  first 

"And  foremost  of  physicians !"  "I've  imbibed 
Elixir  surely,"  smiled  the  Prince, — "have  gained 
New  lease  of  life.    Dear  doctor,  how  you  bribed 


ii8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"Death  to  forego  me,  boots  not :  you've  obtained 
My  daughter  and  her  dowry.  Death,  I've  heard, 
Was  still  on  earth  the  strongest  power  that  reigned, 

"Except  a  Bad  Wife!"    Whereunto  demurred 
Nowise  the  doctor,  so  refused  the  fee — 
No  dowry,  no  Bad  Wife ! 

"You  think 
This  tale  absurd?" — the  Rabbi  added:    "True,  our  Talmud 
Boasts  sundry  such:  yet — have  our  elders  erred 
In  thinking  there's  some  water  there,  not  all  mud?" 
I  tell  it,  as  the  Rabbi  told  it  me. 

Robert  Browning. 


NO.  27  AND  THE  PUMPKIN  PIE 


HE  death  of  the  venerable  and  beloved  Mrs.  James 
W.  Harris  of  Columbus,  Miss.,  recalls  an  amusing 
yet  pathetic  hospital  experience  of  that  lady. 

The  women  of  Columbus,  when  the  necessity 
arose,  organized  a  soldiers'  relief  association,  of  which  Mrs. 
Harris  was  president.  The  association  charged  itself  with 
the  duty  of  ministering  to  the  wants  of  confederate  soldiers 
as  far  as  lay  in  its  power,  and  of  nursing  the  sick  and 
wounded. 

Medicine,  by  reason  of  the  blockade,  was  hard  to  get  and 
exorbitantly  high,  and  quinine  had  been  declared  contraband 
of  war.  In  every  storeroom  there  had  been  religiously 
hoarded  small  stores  of  tea,  coffee,  and  sugar,  against  the 
possible  evil  day  when  some  member  of  the  family  might 
be  taken  sick,  but  when  the  sick  and  wounded  soldiers  began 
to  come  in,  these  precious  stores  were  distributed  among 
them.  Daily  the  ladies  went  to  the  hospital  with  hampers 
of  delicately  prepared  food,  with  which  the  men  were  nour- 
ished under  the  direction  of  the  surgeon  in  charge.  One  day 
Mrs.  Harris,  making  her  usual  rounds,  leaving  cheer  and 
comfort  in  her  wake,  stopped  to  chat  with  one  of  her  "boys," 
who  was  then  convalescent.  Just  as  she  turned  to  leave,  her 
eyes  fell  upon  the  occupant  of  a  bed  which  had  been  empty 
the  previous  evening. 

"When  did  he  come  in,  and  who  is  he?"  she  asked. 

"Some  poor  devil  of  a  Yankee  our  boys  took  prisoner.  He 
was  brought  in  with  a  lot  of  our  men  last  night.  He  has 
typhoid  fever,  they  say,  and  is  pretty  bad  off,  I  believe." 

For  a  moment  a  wave  of  repulsion,  of  hate,  almost,  swept 
over  her,  but  she  was  of  an  exceedingly  gentle,  sympathetic 
nature,  and  she  had  three  young  sons  in  the  army — what  if 
they,  too,  should  fall  into  a  like  plight? 

up 


lao  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

She  stepped  to  his  bedside  and  beheld  a  long,  lean,  gawky 
youth  of  not  more  than  nineteen,  burning  with  fever  and 
tossing  in  delirium.  "Mother,  mother,  where  are  you  ?"  was 
his  incessant  and  piteous  cry.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  at 
the  sight  of  the  young  fellow  who  but  a  few  moments  ago 
had  been  the  "enemy,"  but  was  now  become  one  of  her 
"boys,"  to  be  tenderly  nursed.  She  sought  the  surgeon,  a 
good  man,  but  harassed  from  overwork  and  inadequate 
means  for  the  perfect  discharge  of  the  duties  he  had  under- 
taken. 

"Doctor,  what  is  the  matter  with  No.  27?" 

"No.  27  has  typhoid  fever,  madam,"  he  replied.  "It  is 
almost  a  hopeless  case." 

"Is  there  nothing  to  be  done  for  him,  then  ?" 

"Very  little,  I  fear.  By  the  help  of  stimulants  and  nour- 
ishing food  we  might  pull  him  through,  but,  as  you  are 
aware,  we  have  nothing  to  spare.  Our  own  men  will  soon 
be  without,"  and  he  sighed  deeply.  "But  it  will  be  only  one 
Yankee  the  less,"  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"Doctor,  I'm  going  to  take  that  poor  boy  in  my  own  spe- 
cial charge,  and  as  long  as  there  is  any  food  or  medicine 
left  he  shall  have  his  share  of  it.  And  I  know  you  well 
enough,  doctor,  to  feel  sure  that  you  will  expend  on  that 
Yankee  boy  of  mine  as  much  care  and  skill  as  if  he  were 
one  of  my  own  double-dyed  rebel  sons." 

The  next  day  and  the  next,  and  for  many  more  long  weary 
days  after,  Mrs.  Harris  and  the  doctor  tended  and  nursed 
the  prisoner  boy  from  Maine.  But  he  grew  steadily  worse. 
His  constant  cry  had  been  for  his  mother,  but  after  awhile 
he  came  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Harris  was  his  mother,  and 
as  long  as  she  was  near  him  he  was  quiet.  The  days  length- 
ened into  weeks,  and  at  last  the  fever  burned  itself  out,  but 
it  seemed  also  to  have  consumed  the  vitality  of  its  victim. 
Mrs.  Harris  hardly  needed  to  ask  the  doctor  his  opinion  of 
his  patient — death  was  written  large  on  that  wan  face. 

"Is  there  any  chance  for  him  ?"  she  asked  huskily. 

"None  whatever,  in  my  opinion,  madam." 

She  stooped  and  kissed  the  sick  man's  brow ;  then,  sad 


THE  PUMPKIN  PIE  121 

and  tearful,  left  him,  to  try  to  lose  herself  in  a  round  of 
duties. 

The  next  day,  upon  her  return  to  the  hospital,  she  was 
astonished  to  hear  that  her  patient  was  still  alive.  She 
hastened  to  him  and  found  him  conscious. 

"My  son,"  she  said,  bending  over  him,  "is  there  anything 
more  I  can  do  for  you?  Is  there  anything  at  all  you  fancy?" 

He  was  too  weak  to  speak  aloud,  but  she  fancied  she 
caught  his  faintly  whispered  answer,  "Pumpkin  pie." 

Thinking  she  must  be  mistaken,  she  repeated  her  question. 

"Pumpkin  pie,"  he  whispered,  and  the  effort  exhausted 
him  utterly. 

She  sought  the  surgeon.  "Doctor,  you  say  there  is  no 
possible  chance  for  No.  27?" 

"None  whatever,  madam.    He  will  be  dead  in  24  hours." 

"He  wants  pumpkin  pie." 

The  surgeon  laughed.  "A  queer  fancy  for  a  dying  man. 
But  nothing  can  hurt  him  now ;  it  can  only  hasten  his  death 
by  a  few  hours." 

"Then,  doctor.  No.  27  shall  have  his  last  wish.  I'm  going 
home  this  very  minute  and  make  that  pumpkin  pie  myself." 

The  next  morning  when  Mrs.  Harris  entered  the  hospital 
it  was  with  a  heavy  heart.    Of  course  No.  27  was  dead. 

"Good  morning,  doctor.    How  are  the  sick?" 

"Well,  madam,  No.  27  for  one  is  better." 

"You  don't  mean  it?" 

"But  I  do,  though,  and  he  is  asking  for  more  pumpkin 
pie." 

"May  I  let  him  have  it?" 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Harris,  after  this  you  may  feed  him  on 
thistles — give  him  ground  glass — unexploded  shells — ^any- 
thing!   You  can't  kill  that  Yankee." 

With  a  lighter  heart  No.  27's  nurse  sought  his  bedside. 

"Well,  my  son,  how  do  you  feel  this  morning?" 

"Better,  ma'am.     Can  I  have  some  more  pumpkin  pie?" 

The  voice  was  weak,  but  there  was  in  it  a  note  of  strength 
which  had  been  absent  the  day  before.  His  skin  was  moist, 
his  eye  clear — decidedly  No.  27  was  better. 


122  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"I  can  have  it,  can't  I,  ma'am?"  his  voice  quavering  with 
anxious  expectancy. 

"My  boy,  I'll  send  you  one  directly.  But  be  careful.  Don't 
eat  too  much  at  a  time." 

A  ghost  of  a  smile  played  about  his  pale,  shrunken  lips  as 
he  replied,  "I'll  try,  ma'am." 

Not  very  long  afterward  Tildy  entered  the  hospital  all 
a-giggling,  bearing  the  pumpkin  pie.  Again  he  ate  greedily, 
and  again  fell  into  a  refreshing  sleep. 

So  the  boy  from  Maine  got  well,  and  he  always  declared 
that  if  it  had  not  been  for  those  pumpkin  pies  he  surely  must 
have  died.  His  gratitude  to  Mrs.  Harris  and  the  love  he 
bore  for  the  sweet  rebel  lady  who  had  done  so  much  for  him 
were  too  great  to  be  expressed  in  the  limited  language  at  the 
command  of  the  boy  from  the  backwoods  of  Maine. 


THE  OLD  PHYSIC  AND  THE  NEW 

IN  his  method  of  treating  the  sick,  the  practitioner 
of  the  old  school  had  a  lively  sense  of  the  value  of 
medicines   and  of   remedial   substances   generally. 

He  cared  little  or  nothing  about  hygiene.    He  let 

his  nurses  draw  down  the  blinds  of  the  windows  in  the  sick- 
room   and  make  it  a  dark  and  dirty  dungeon,  without  the 
slightest  compunction.    He  had  no  love  for  open  wmdows ; 
and,  unless  the  weather  was  very  cold,  he  never  troubled 
about  the  fire  or  the  external  temperature,  but  he  enforced 
freedom  from  noise,  and  secured  mental  repose  by  directmg 
the  streets  below  to  be  covered  with  straw.    He  ordered  low 
diet  in  acute  cases ;  and,  as  a  rule,  he  knocked  off  stimulants 
so  rigorously  that  his  permission  to  administer  a  glass  of 
wine  or  beer  was  looked  upon  by  the  joyful  family  as  the 
first  and  certain  sign  of  recovery ;  a  practise  out  of  which 
Dr    Cheyne  of  Dublin  made  fine  satire.     He  never  for  a 
moment  forgot  his  potent  remedies.     The  lancet,  the  cup- 
ping-glass, the  leech,  the  calomel  pill  and  black  draught,  the 
effervescing  mixture  to  be  taken  every  three  or  four  hours, 
the  sleeping  draught,  the  cooling  lotion  to  be  applied  to  the 
head,  the  blister  and  the  blister  ointment,  followed  by  the 
"tonic"  day  after  day  "during  convalescence"— these  were 
almost  inseparable  from  his  routine.    We  had  our  medicine 
boy  who  took  out  the  physic  in  a  basket  with  two  lids  open- 
ing'from  the  centre.    One  half  would  take  about  "six  lots,' 
and  one  small  boy  would  deliver  both  halves— a  good  load— 
in  one  round,  while  in  busy  times  we  would  press  the  post- 
man into  our  service  to  relieve  the  boy  or  boys. 

Say  what  we  may,  the  doctor  of  the  old  school  was  right 
loyal  to  his  remedies.  He  had  at  his  command  fearful 
means,  and  he  stuck  to  them.  They  were  not  many  nor  much 
varied;  but  such  as  they  were,  there  was  no  mistake  about 

123 


124  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

them.  Tartar  emetic  in  sixth-of-a-grain  dose  until  it  was 
"tolerated" ;  mercury  until  it  "touched  the  gums" ;  half  an 
ounce  or  even  an  ounce  of  Epsom  salts  ;  effervescing  tartrate 
of  potash,  or  soda  mixture,  ad  libitum;  bark  up  to  cinchon- 
ism ;  and  occasionally  a  bolus !  But  the  great  remedy  was 
blood-letting;  every  man  carried  a  lancet;  and  a  tortoise- 
shell  lancet-case  holding  two  bright  blades  was  considered 
the  most  befitting  present  for  a  youth  about  to  be  articled. 
Mine  I  still  keep  as  a  souvenir.  It  was  a  joke  to  direct  a 
youth  to  learn  to  practise  venesection  on  what  were  called 
"the  veins  of  a  cabbage-leaf" ;  and  some,  thinking  it  proper 
advice,  did,  in  their  innocence,  begin  in  that  style.  The  lancet, 
in  frequent  use,  was  supplemented  by  the  leech  and  the  cup- 
ping-glass. It  may  seem  incredible,  but  it  is  a  fact,  that  I  knew 
of  one  practise  in  which  the  leech  bill  alone  reached  the 
sum  of  ii50  a  year.  I  also  knew  a  practise,  in  which  a  man 
who  had  learned  to  apply  leeches  skilfully  was  attached  to 
the  firm  as  the  regular  "leech-man."  He — dear  old  fellow — 
was  too  good  and  devoted  to  his  work  ever  to  be  forgotten ; 
he  could  make  leeches  bite  when  no  one  else  could,  "they 
loved  him  so" ;  he  was  known  to  fame  the  country  round, 
and  many  a  countryman  was  ready  to  swear  that  he  owed 
his  life  to  "Old  Josh"  the  "leech-man." 

There  is  no  wonder  that,  in  acute  disease,  medicine  was 
not  eminently  successful  in  those  days.  The  wonder  is  rather 
that  patients  recovered  so  well  as  they  did.  Dr.  Robert  Willis 
told  me  that  the  famous  Dr.  Gregory,  when  piling  on  the 
"heroic  treatment,"  would  say  to  his  students,  "Don't  be 
alarmed,  gentlemen ;  it  takes  a  great  deal  to  kill  a  man." 
Gregory  was  right,  and  if  some  were  not  really  killed  it  was 
more  by  good  luck  than  good  management.  It  was  not  suc- 
cessful treatment,  as  all  who  have  lived  to  compare  it  with 
our  reformed  treatment  admit.  It  was  bad  at  the  time,  for 
it  left  many  bad  after-effects,  and  it  was  far  worse  than  no 
treatment  at  all  of  a  medicinal  kind :  a  fact  the  discovery  of 
which  every  honest  observer  must  in  justice  accord  to  the 
schismatic  school  of  homeopathy.  The  contrast  between  new 
and  old  physic  in  matter  of  practise  is  striking.    Our  fathers 


THE  OLD  PHYSIC  AND  THE  NEW  125 

followed  Galen  in  the  view  that  every  practitioner  ought  to 
hold  all  his  remedies  in  his  own  hand  and  dispense  them 
himself ;  the  chemist  and  druggist  was  the  demon. 

Now  it  is  deemed  commonplace  if  the  doctor  dispense  his 
own  remedies ;  and  when  he  does  so,  it  is  as  a  sort  of  favor 
or  necessity — something  thrown  in,  to  form,  accidentally  or 
not  at  all,  an  addition  to  the  fees  for  attendance.  The  phar- 
maceutist pushes  his  trade  industriously  to  meet  our  wants, 
and  our  wants  are  many.  He  grows  bolder;  he  invents  for 
us  in  advance  of  our  needs.  He  floods  our  breakfast-tables 
with  his  nostrums,  advices,  and  temptations.  He  is  a  pro- 
fessor of  materia  medica,  pharmacology,  hygienics,  diet,  and 
regimen,  all  rolled  into  one.  He  has  a  new  remedy  for  every 
day  in  the  year,  with  two  for  holy  days,  so  that  any  remedy 
that  lives  for  a  year  has  a  long  life.  The  result  is  that  a  large 
section  of  practitioners  is  flying  after  everything,  tr>'ing 
everything,  and  holding  fast  by  nothing;  while  another 
smaller  section  is  giving  up  everything,  or,  in  state  of  great- 
est activity,  is  playing  placebo,  with  considerable  luck  in  the 
play,  to  their  own  astonishment.  For  several  years  past 
specialism  has  taken  such  hold  on  the  public  mind  that  per- 
force the  universalists  have  been  almost  driven  to  haul  down 
their  colors.  Some  particular  persons  seem  to  have  as  many 
specialists  as  they  have  organs.  I  know  a  lady  who  boasts 
of  her  eye  doctor,  ear  doctor,  chest  doctor,  heart  doctor, 
brain  doctor,  and  nose  doctor,  as  well  as  what  she  calls  her 
"general  prac." ;  and  of  all  of  them  she  speaks  as  if  they 
were  men  of  different  professions,  just  as  she  might  speak 
of  her  watchmaker,  her  bellows-maker,  or  her  undertaker. 
Some  of  these  particularly  acute  persons  run  specialism 
finer  still.  One  of  them  carries  a  "hussif  list"  of  doctors,  in 
which  she  has  written  out  for  her  friends,  as  well  as  for  her- 
self and  family,  what  every  man  "is  clever  for"  down  to  a 
nicety.  I  got  a  look  at  the  list,  and  found  my  good  friend 
Dr.  A.  booked  as  "very  clever  for  the  upper  part  of  the  apex 
of  the  right  lung,"  and  Dr.  B.  for  the  "lower  part  of  the 
upper  intestine  and  the  neck  of  the  gall  bladder."  In  the 
past  the  general  practitioner  took  his  patient  to  the  great 


126  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

man,  held  a  hona-Ude  tete-a-tete  with  the  most  studied  cere- 
mony, and  all  was  over.  With  less  ceremony  the  same  may 
take  place  still ;  but  in  this  day  patients,  without  a  word  to 
their  regular  attendants,  rush  to  the  consultant,  or,  as  they 
say,  in  the  flattery  of  their  words,  to  the  "fountain-head" 
direct,  and  the  fountain-head  will  now  receive  them — it  is 
as  awful  as  it  is  true — alone.  Sometimes  a  patient  will  go 
round  to  five  or  six  fountain-heads  on  the  same  morning, 
without  telling  any  one  of  them  that  he  has  already  gam- 
bolled under  another,  and,  having  got  home  with  a  pre- 
scription from  each  of  the  heads,  will  be  guided  by  the  opin- 
ion of  his  regular  adviser,  the  chemist  and  druggist  round 
the  comer,  as  to  the  prescription  most  likely  to  do  him  good. 

Dr.  B.  W.  Richardson. 


THE  MODERN  NOVELIST  AND  MEDICAL 
SUBJECTS 


E""^^RRONEOUS  statements  on  medical  subjects  are 
very  frequent  in  the  modern  novel,  and  appear  to 
be  becoming  more  so.  Impossible  and  contradic- 
tory descriptions  of  the  symptoms  and  course  of  a 
disease,  together  with  a  display  of  ignorance  of  medical 
matters  in  general,  are  a  feature  of  up-to-date  fiction.  One 
would  imagine  in  this  age  of  realism  that  writers  would  try 
to  be  fairly  accurate,  or  at  least  not  make  glaring  mistakes. 
A  literary  production  emanating  from  the  fertile  and  imagi- 
native brain  of  Mr.  Hall  Caine  is  a  startling  example  of  this 
slipshod  tendency  on  the  part  of  modern  romancists.  "The 
Christian"  has  raised  a  storm  of  criticism  on  all  sides.  Its 
accuracy  as  to  details  has  been  severely  questioned,  both 
from  a  lay  and  from  a  medical  standpoint,  and  certainly  the 
misstatements  to  be  found  in  the  work  in  respect  to  matters 
medical  are  extraordinary  and  amusing.  The  word  pictures 
of  hospital  life  and  of  a  nurse's  duties  as  portrayed  in  the 
description  of  Nurse  Glory,  while  exhibiting  the  author's 
powers  of  imagination  in  a  favorable  light,  also  tend  to  show 
that  his  real  knowledge  of  the  subject  is  very  little.  To  one 
who  is  acquainted  from  practical  experience  with  the  internal 
management  of  large  hospitals,  the  accounts  of  the  doings 
therein,  as  set  forth  in  "The  Christian,"  will  appear  wonder- 
fully funny.  The  entire  book,  indeed,  is  full  of  amusing 
perversions  of  medical  knowledge,  of  which  perhaps  the 
most  comical  is  Mr.  Caine's  definition  of  a  stillborn  child  as 
one  that  has  breathed  but  never  cried. 

The  writer  of  fiction  of  the  present  day  does  not  appear  to 
advantage  with  many  of  the  novelists  of  the  past  generation, 
in  his  acquaintance  with  medical  subjects,  although  it  must 
be  confessed  that  even  among  the  dead  giants  of  romance 

127 


128  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

there  were  but  few  whose  description  of  a  disease  was  abso- 
lutely correct.  George  Eliot  is  without  doubt  entitled  to 
first  place  in  this  list ;  her  sketches  of  doctors  and  her  state- 
ments in  regard  to  the  disease  of  which  she  treats,  are  drawn 
with  a  masterly  hand,  and  are  as  accurate  as  if  written  for  a 
medical  text-book.  Charles  Kingsley,  in  "Two  Years  Ago," 
traces  the  history  of  a  cholera  epidemic  with  the  utmost 
attention  to  technical  minutiae.  Thackeray  also  described 
the  course  of  a  malady  as  correctly  as  he  did  the  treatment 
pursued  by  the  physicians  of  his  time.  Of  modern  novelists, 
Besant,  in  the  "Ivory  Gate,"  gives  an  interesting  study  of  an 
obscure  brain  disease,  and,  as  he  informs  us  in  the  preface 
that  he  procured  his  medical  information  from  a  competent 
doctor,  it  may  be  taken  for  granted  that  his  statements  are 
correct.  Putting  on  one  side,  however,  the  comparatively 
few  instances  in  which  the  diseases  dealt  with  by  novelists 
are  to  be  depended  upon  as  being  correctly  described,  the 
majority  of  the  medical  statements  in  fiction  can  be  divided 
into  two  classes :  those  in  which  the  accounts  of  diseases 
given  are  false  in  every  respect ;  and  those  in  which  the 
author,  not  being  au  fait  with  his  subject,  is  careful  not 
to  commit  himself,  and  therefore  wisely  confines  himself  to 
vague  generalities. 

Another  point  worthy  of  notice  is  the  small  number  of 
diseases  brought  into  the  service  of  the  novelist.  At  one 
time  brain  fever  was  the  universal  favorite,  with  typhoid  a 
good  second,  and  although,  within  recent  years,  neurosis  has 
to  a  certain  extent  banished  brain  fever  from  its  proud  posi- 
tion, yet  the  latter  disease  still  holds  its  own  in  fiction.  That 
nervous  prostration  is  much  more  likely  to  attack  the  hero 
or  heroine  suffering  from  the  storm  and  stress  in  life,  as 
depicted  in  the  ordinary  modern  novel,  than  is  brain  fever, 
cannot  be  denied.  Nevertheless,  there  are  occasions  when 
an  author,  in  order  to  extricate  himself  from  a  complicated 
situation,  is  compelled  to  fall  back  upon  disease  of  an  acute 
nature ;  and  in  such  a  predicament,  what  so  suitable  as  brain 
fever  or  what  so  convenient  as  its  delirious  ravings?  The 
fact  has  been  more  than  once  pointed  out  that  there  is  a 


NOVELISTS,  AND  MEDICAL  SUBJECTS  129 

disease  which  has  been  strangely  overlooked,  and  which 
certainly  desen'es  to  find  more  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  novel- 
ist than  has  hitherto  been  the  case.  This  complaint  is  pneu- 
monia, for,  while  it  fulfills  all  the  conditions  required  by 
the  novelist,  and  to  a  fuller  extent  than  brain  fever,  it  has 
none  of  the  disagreeable  associations  connected  with  typhoid. 
Pneumonia  may  be  termed  an  aristocratic  disease,  while 
tjphoid,  though  no  respecter  of  persons,  still  has  a  certain 
plebeian  flavor,  savoring  of  foul-smelling  drains  and  tainted 
water.  In  novels,  acute  diseases  invariably  end  suddenly. 
Pneumonia  terminates  by  crisis ;  the  onset  of  the  attack  is 
sudden,  the  temperature  is  always  high ;  delirium,  stupor,  or 
complete  unconsciousness  is  a  feature  in  its  progress.  Thus 
in  this  disease  there  is  a  choice  of  dramatic  climax  found  in 
no  other  malady.  A  wicked  man  can  be  cut  off  in  the  midst 
of  his  sins,  or  a  good  one  can  be  made  to  provide  an  edifying 
death-bed  scene.  Pneumonia  may  be  recommended  to  au- 
thors as  a  disease  whose  merits  as  an  aid  to  fiction  have  not 
as  yet  received  the  appreciation  from  them  which  is  un- 
doubtedly its  due.  Consumption  is  a  disease  of  such  a 
nature  that  most  novelists  fight  shy  of  it,  and  are  very  chary 
of  relating  its  tedious  course.  William  D.  Howell,  in  one 
of  his  works,  has  been  bold  enough  to  introduce  a  family, 
all  of  whose  members  but  one  are  afflicted  with  phthisis ; 
and  Gilbert  Parker,  in  an  interesting  book  he  has  lately 
written,  has  succeeded  in  rendering  his  consumptive  hero  a 
most  fascinating  and  attractive  personality.  In  connection 
with  consumption  in  fiction,  it  is  instructive  under  the  present 
circumstances  to  note  that  Smollett,  more  than  one  hundred 
and  fifty  years  ago,  draws  attention  in  "The  Expedition  of 
Humphry  Clinker"  to  the  prevailing  opinion  then  existing 
that  consumption  was  contagious.  Heart  disease  is  natur- 
ally a  favorite  with  writers  of  romance  when  a  character  gets 
rather  too  obtrusive  and  it  is  deemed  advisable  to  remove 
her  or  him  from  the  scene.  Marion  Crawford,  in  "A  Rose  of 
Yesterday,"  has  drawn  a  graphic  picture  of  the  life  and 
death  of  a  fast  man;  but  the  most  powerful  sketch  of  the 
stages  of  syphilis   was  that  of   Samuel  Warren,   entitled 


130  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"A  Man  About  Town,"  included  in  his  "Diary  of  a  Late  Phy- 
sician." 

In  present  and  past  fiction  too,  many  examples  have  been 
aflforded  of  the  manner  in  which  eminent  writers  can  err 
when  they  enter  upon  descriptions  of  technical  matters  with- 
out taking  the  trouble  to  verify  their  statements.  It  cannot 
be  expected  of  a  novelist,  however  talented  he  may  be,  that 
he  should  be  conversant  with  a  disease  by  mere  intuition,  and 
if  he  trusts  to  his  imagination  and  to  some  superficial  obser- 
vation he  will  surely  fall  into  grievous  errors. 


ORMSBY'S  ENFANT  TERRIBLE 
I 


HAT  Frederick  Ormsby,  M.  D.,  is  destined  to  attain 
a  position  of  eminence  in  his  profession  there 
seems  now  to  be  no  apparent  reason  to  doubt. 
There  has  been  a  vast  change  in  his  fortunes  since 
that  wintry  night  when  he  left  the  apartment  which  we  then 
occupied  together,  to  visit  his  first  patient  and  distinguish 
himself  by  a  performance  which  resulted  in  his  becoming 
known  to  his  friends  as  "Doctor  Jupiter." 

We  had  taken  our  degrees  that  year — having  gone  through 
college  together — and  only  tarried  in  New  York  in  order 
that  we  might  attend  a  supplementary  series  of  lectures  then 
being  delivered  by  an  eminent  surgeon. 

We  occupied  an  apartment  in  a  lodging-house  in  West 
Twelfth  Street  and  were  in  a  lamentable  though  chronic  con- 
dition of  bankruptcy.  To  make  matters  still  more  com- 
plicated, there  resided  in  the  same  house  a  certain  Miss 
Gilberta  Wylie,  who  might,  had  she  so  inclined,  have 
regarded  my  chum  and  myself  as  her  devoted  slaves. 

In  order  to  maintain  the  respect  and  esteem  of  this  young 
■woman,  Ormsby  and  I  made  the  most  strenuous  efforts  to 
keep  up  appearances,  and  as  our  finances  were  in  about  an 
equally  deplorable  state,  it  was  a  case  of  nip  and  tuck 
between  us  in  the  matter  of  personal  adornment  and  invita- 
tions to  places  of  refreshment  and  amusement — the  enchant- 
ress accepting  our  attentions  indiscriminately. 

One  December  night  we  sat  together  in  our  room — 
Ormsby  with  his  feet  on  the  fender  and  I  with  my  heels  on 
the  table. 

Ormsby  had  just  invested  his  last  three  dollars  in  a  couple 
of  Lyceum  orchestra  chairs  for  an  opening  night  and  was, 

131 


132  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

therefore,  as  elated  as  I  was  depressed.  Miss  Wylie,  be  it 
observed,  was  especially  fond  of  Lyceum  performances  and 
confessed  a  partiality  for  the  orchestra  chairs. 

About  nine  o'clock  we  were  aroused  from  our  reveries  by 
a  thumping  on  the  door,  and  a  moment  later,  in  obedience  to 
our  mutual  invitation,  the  housemaid  appeared  on  the 
threshold. 

Now,  there  are  housemaids  and  housemaids,  and  their 
idiosyncrasies  are  legion,  but  in  the  ranks  of  the  long-suflfer- 
ing  sisterhood,  not  one  could  rival  in  guilelessness  of  expres- 
sion, or  density  of  ideas,  the  damsel  we  fondly  denominated 
as  "Our  Mary." 

Her  face  was  like  an  open  book — ^badly  soiled,  to  be  sure — 
but  as  easy  to  read  as  a  two-foot  thermometer.  It  was, 
therefore,  no  difficult  matter  to  assume,  as  she  stood  before 
,us  with  her  eyes  reverently  turned  towards  Ormsby,  and  her 
smutty  features  transfigured  with  awe  and  astonishment, 
that  her  soul  was  stirred  to  a  degree  neither  Ormsby  nor 
I  had  ever  thought  it  possible  for  that  soul  to  attain. 

Naturally  we  inferred  that  some  extraordinary  event  was 
about  to  occur,  but  we  were  scarcely  prepared  for  the  full 
force  of  her  announcement. 

"Please,  sir,  a  little  boy  downstairs  wants  Dr.  Ormsby  to 
go  to  his  house  and  see  a  sick  child." 

If  the  death  angel  had  suddenly  appeared  in  the  door  and 
offered  to  stand  a  round  of  ale,  immediately  after  this  decla- 
ration, we  would  not  have  noticed  his  presence. 

"Wants  Ormsby  1"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  sir.  Dr.  Ormsby,"  said  our  servitor. 

There  was  a  wild  look  in  Ormsby's  eyes,  and  as  he  rose 
he  trembled. 

"Tell  him  to  wa-wa-wait,"  he  stammered. 

The  maid  continued  to  gaze  at  us  alternately,  in  idiotic 
amazement. 

"There,  there,  that  will  do !"  I  exclaimed.  "Don't  you  see 
the  doctor  is  beginning  to  change  his  clothes  ?" 

"Yes — get  out,"  gasped  Ormsby  between  his  trembling 
jaws. 


ORMSBY'S  ENFANT  TERRIBLE  133 

The  girl,  with  reluctant  steps,  took  her  departure,  and 
Ormsby,  in  feverish  haste,  proceeded  to  don  his  best  black 
suit. 

"What  are  you  going  to  charge  'em  ?"  I  enquired. 

Ormsby  didn't  vouchsafe  an  answer. 

"I  only  ask,"  I  continued,  "because  our  tobacco  box  is 
about  empty,  and  it  might  be  well  to  bear  in  mind  the  fact 
that  the  jack  of  spades  is  missing  from  that  antediluvian 
pack  of  playing  cards." 

Ormsby  had  now  arrived  at  the  hair-brushing  stage  and 
was  working  furiously. 

"You  owe  me  ten  dollars — first  patient,  you  know,"  he  ob- 
served pleasantly. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "you've  won  ;  but,  while  you  are  waiting  for 
those  ten  dollars,  these  little  items  I  have  mentioned  might 
be  supplied." 

Ormsby  gave  me  a  withering  glance ;  then  slid  into  his 
overcoat  and  made  for  the  door. 

"Hold  on,"  I  shouted,  "better  take  off  that  smoking  cap 
and  put  on  your  tile.  The  Arab  physician  act  isn't  likely  to 
catch  on  in  New  York."  Ormsby  glared  at  me  fiercely,  but 
condescended  to  act  in  accordance  with  my  advice.  Then 
he  bolted. 

Now,  although  I  had  aflFected  a  spirit  of  levity,  it  must 
not  be  supposed  that  I  was  in  an  enviable  frame  of  mind. 
Those  Lyceum  tickets,  and  the  influence  which  Ormsby's 
actual  entry  into  practice  would  have  on  the  mind  of  the  fair 
Gilberta,  irritated  me  exceedingly. 

Then,  too,  that  wager  of  ten  dollars  which  I  made  with 
Ormsby  was  a  debt  of  honor,  and  would  have  to  be  paid. 
Practically  I  was  paying  for  those  Lyceum  tickets  out  of  my 
own  pocket. 

II 

At  the  expiration  of  half  an  hour  I  threw  my  clay  pipe 
violently  into  the  fireplace  and  climbed  into  bed.  Fifteen 
minutes  later  Ormsby  returned. 

"Well,  how  did  you  make  out?"  I  yawned. 


134  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"Quite  satisfactorily,"  replied  Ormsby.  "A  case  of  men- 
ingitis." 

"Will  it  cover  the  jack  and  the  tobacco?" 

Ormsby  was  whistling  softly  and  did  not  respond.  He 
went  over  to  the  table  and  laid  down  a  package  wrapped  in 
brown  paper,  after  which  he  prepared  to  retire. 

I  rolled  out  of  bed  and  directed  my  steps  toward  the 
table. 

"What's  this?'  I  asked. 

Ormsby  made  no  response,  so  I  forthwith  proceeded  to 
unfold  the  brown  paper. 

A  few  seconds  later  the  body  of  a  six-month-old  infant 
lay  before  my  eyes. 

"What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  by  bringing  this  here?" 
I  demanded.  "I  knew,  of  course,  when  you  went  out  that 
the  jig  would  be  up  with  somebody  before  you  got  back.  It 
wasn't  necessary  to  carry  your  victim  all  the  way  up  here 
to  prove  it." 

"Cut  that,"  said  Ormsby  savagely.  "The  young  one  was 
dying  when  I  arrived.  I  did  all  I  could — all  any  one  could 
do ;  but  it  was  no  use.  The  parents  were  poverty-stricken 
and  unable  to  pay  the  dollar  I  charged  them,  and,  further- 
more, bewailed  the  expense  of  a  funeral.  I  told  them  that 
I  would  take  the  infant  as  a  fee  and  apply  it  to  scientific  pur- 
poses. They  agreed  to  this  proposition  and  I  signed  a  death 
certificate,  gave  them  a  receipt  for  the  'subject,'  and  left 
the  house.  I'll  take  it  with  me  to  the  college  tomorrow. 
We  have  needed  a  well-formed  infant  for  some  time,  and 
now  we've  got  one,  so  go  to  bed  and  give  that  fund  of  sar- 
casm of  yours  a  chance  to  replenish  itself.  It  has  mani- 
fested symptoms  of  exhaustion  lately.    Good-night." 

With  this  he  gathered  up  his  perquisite,  and  opening  the 
top  drawer  of  the  bureau  he  deposited  the  "subject"  within. 
Five  minutes  later  he  crawled  into  bed  beside  me  and  we 
both  went  to  sleep. 

How  long  I  slumbered  I  am  unable  to  affirm  positively, 
but  I  do  not  think  I  had  been  asleep  more  than  half  an  hour 


ORMSBY'S  ENFANT  TERRIBLE  13S 

when  I  was  suddenly  awakened  by  my  bedfellow,  who  was 
shaking  me  violently. 

In  language  rather  more  forcible  than  polite,  I  com- 
manded him  to  desist,  and  asked  him  what  was  the  matter. 

"Listen!  Don't  you  hear  anything?"  he  asked  in  an  ex- 
cited whisper.  I  listened  for  a  few  minutes;  then,  as  all 
was  still,  I  besought  him  to  let  me  alone,  and  turn  over  and 
go  to  sleep. 

He  released  my  arm  and  I  heard  him  rise  to  a  sitting  pos- 
ture in  the  bed.  Suddenly  he  thew  off  the  bed  covers  and 
jumped  out,  and  at  that  moment  I  heard  a  succession  of  faint 
sounds,  not  altogether  unhke  the  smothered  cries  of  a  cat. 

Ormsby  lighted  the  gas  and  turned  his  pale  face  with  an 
inquisitive  expression  in  my  direction. 

"Hear  it  now  ?"  he  asked  breathlessly. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  and  a  moment  later  I  was  on  the  floor 
beside  him.    We  both  listened  intently. 

Again  we  heard  the  sounds,  and  this  time  there  was  no 
longer  any  doubt  as  to  the  source  whence  they  emanated. 
They  came  from  the  bureau  drawer. 

We  regarded  each  other  in  horrified  astonishment.  Then^ 
with  one  accord,  we  cautiously  advanced  towards  the  bureau 
and  after  a  brief  hesitation  Ormsby  tremulously  opened  the 
drawer. 

Immediately  the  cries  ceased,  and  there  among  some  dis- 
carded shoes,  with  a  frayed  collar  tightly  clasped  in  a  dimin- 
utive hand,  and  eyes  blinking  as  the  flood  of  light  was  thus 
thrown  suddenly  upon  them — lay  Ormsby 's  virgin  tribute 
to  old  Dame  Science. 

We  continued  to  stare  in  speechless  amazement,  and  the 
young  lady,  who  was  attired  only  in  a  negligee  wrapper 
of  brown  paper,  began  to  splutter  and  crow,  while  beating 
the  air  vigorously  with  the  captive  collar,  as  if  protesting 
against  our  utter  lack  of  chivalry. 

"It's  alive,"  affirmed  Ormsby  positively. 

"Quite  so,"  I  replied.  "The  young  lady  seems  to  have  re- 
covered from  that  little  attack  of  meningitis  you  gave  her, 
and  now  appears  to  be  suffering  from  a  violent  attack  of 


136  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

life.  Under  these  circumstances,  I  think  it  might  be  well  to 
return  her  to  her  paternal  roof  at  once." 

Ormsby  agreed  to  this  proposition,  and  we  quickly  appro- 
priated two  towels  and  a  pillow-case,  in  which  we  proceeded 
to  swaddle  the  infant.  When  this  was  satisfactorily  accom- 
plished my  colleague  dressed  himself  and  went  out  with  his 
charge,  whereupon  I  returned  to  bed. 

About  an  hour  later  Ormsby  returned.  As  he  entered 
the  apartment  I  observed  that  his  features  were  singularly 
disturbed  and  also  that  the  infant  was  still  with  him. 

"What  the  devil  does  this  mean?"  I  exclaimed,  now 
thoroughly  alarmed.    "What  did  you  bring  it  back  for?" 

"Couldn't  shake  it,"  returned  Ormsby  disconsolately. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  we  shall  have  to  harbor  it 
here  all  night?  Have  you  any  idea  what  the  people  in  the 
house  will  think?" 

"Can't  help  it,"  said  Ormsby  desperately.  "I'm  hanged  if 
I  am  going  to  walk  the  streets  any  longer  on  a  cold  night 
like  this  with  that  roll  of  baby  and  towels  in  my  arms." 

"Why  don't  you  take  it  where  it  belongs  ?" 

"I  did ;  but  they  won't  have  it  back.  They  declare  that 
they  have  the  death  certificate  and  that  they  have  had  enough 
of  babies.  They  pretend  to  believe  I  am  trying  to  foist 
one  upon  them  that  is  not  their  own." 

"I  should  have  left  it  on  the  doorstep,"  I  remarked. 

"I  dare  say  you  would,"  he  retorted.  "I,  however,  have  a 
little  reputation  to  lose  at  the  college,  and  don't  care  to  have 
the  matter  dragged  into  the  newspapers.  A  doorstep  sug- 
gested itself  to  my  mind  though,  and  after  walking  a  few 
blocks  I  found  one,  laid  down  the  bundle  and  made  off. 
Just  then  a  policeman  hove  in  sight,  and  upon  discovering 
what  I  had  done  he  placed  me  under  arrest. 

"I  explained  the  circumstances,  told  him  I  was  sorry  and 
promised  to  bring  the  young  one  home  with  me  again.  He 
told  me  to  hang  my  sorrow  and  to  go  along  with  him ;  but 
when  I  slipped  my  watch  into  his  hand,  he  thought  better 
of  it  and  let  me  go.    I'll  smuggle  it  out  of  here  in  the  morn- 


ORMSBY'S  ENFANT  TERRIBLE  137 

ing  before  you  are  awake,  and  take  it  to  a  founding  asylum, 
so  climb  into  bed  again,  go  to  sleep  and  keep  quiet." 

I  didn't  like  the  way  he  addressed  me,  and  I  was  about  to 
tell  him  so,  when  the  infant  began  to  pucker  its  face  in  a 
manner  that  boded  evil.  As  Ormsby  observed  the  series  of 
facial  contortions,  he  paled  visibly. 

"The  infernal  thing  is  going  to  bawl!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes  the  symptoms  are  obvious,"  I  said.  "A  bawl  is  com- 
ing as  sure  as  you  are  a  foot  high." 

"Suppose  the  people  in  the  house  should  hear  it?" 

"Invite  them  in  to  witness  the  performance,"  I  returned. 
"Meanwhile,  I  am  going  to  climb  into  bed,  go  to  sleep  and 
keep  quiet  as  you  suggested." 

Ormsby  seized  me  by  the  arm. 

"I  say,  MacFarland,  don't  talk  like  that.  Haven't  you  any 
interest  in  concealing  this  business  ?" 

"None  at  all,  my  dear  fellow,"  I  replied.  "Meningitis  is 
not  my  specialty,  and  you  appear  to  overlook  the  fact  that 
this  is  not  my  funeral." 

Ill 

I  had  scarcely  finished  speaking  when,  after  a  few  pre- 
liminary gulps  and  splutterings,  the  overture  began. 

I  was  becoming  jubilant  now.  The  perspiration  stood  in 
large  beads  on  Ormsby 's  forehead. 

"What  the  devil  are  we  going  to  do?"  he  asked  desper- 
ately. 

"If  I  were  consulted  professionally,  I  should  prescribe 
milk,"  I  returned. 

"That's  it !  that's  it !"  he  exclaimed  joyfully.  "Get  some, 
won't  you,  old  chap?  Get  a  bottle,  too,  that's  a  good  fel- 
low." 

"With  pleasure,"  I  replied.  "The  landlady  has  milk  and, 
having  been  a  woman  of  family,  I  dare  say  she  has  the  neces- 
sary machinery  with  which  to  administer  it,  in  the  garret. 
I'll  ask  her." 

"Stop!"  he  exclaimed  wildly.     "Don't  be  an  idiot!     Buy 


138  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

the  milk  at  a  saloon,  and  get  a  bottle  and  the  other  things 
at  the  druggist's.    I  have  no  money,  but  you  have." 

"At  this  time  of  the  night?  Not  I!"  I  rejoined.  "And 
as  for  the  money — well,  I  am  too  hard  up  myself  to  indulge 
in  the  luxury  of  buying  provender  for — well — ahem — other 
people's  children." 

I  coughed  significantly. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  he  demanded  fiercely. 

I  pursed  my  lips  and  shrugged  my  shoulders. 

"Well,  old  chap,"  I  said,  "you  must  admit  that  the  circum- 
stances are  so  very  extraordinary,  it  is  only  natural  that 
even  one's  best  friends  should  be  suspicious." 

Ormsby  stared  at  me  in  blank  amazement,  and  paled  and 
flushed  alternately.  Fortunately  he  was  a  little  man,  else 
I  might  have  regretted  having  gone  so  far. 

"That's  rubbing  it  in  too  hard,  Mac.  I  know  what's  the 
matter  though.  Those  theatre  tickets  are  yours,  but  get  the 
milk!" 

"Ormsby !"  I  thundered  with  righteous  indignation. 

"I'll  cancel  our  wager — only  get  the  milk !" 

"I'm  not  a  'cop,'  "  I  retorted.  "It's  no  use,  Ormsby.  I  am 
not  to  be  insulted  one  minute  and  fawned  upon  the  next." 

The  infantile  whimpering  was  now  becoming  more  pro- 
nounced. 

"Then  I'll  go,"  said  Ormsby,  starting  in  the  direction  of 
his  garments. 

This  proposition  was  startling.  I  was  not  going  to  be 
left  alone  with  that  infant  if  I  knew  myself. 

"Never  mind,  old  chap,  I'll  go,"  I  said  indulgently. 

"Don't  trouble  yourself,"  was  the  grim  response. 

"Oh,  but  I  insist,"  I  said.  Then  I  added :  "I  shall  go 
whether  you  do  or  not." 

The  consequence  was  that  I  sallied  out  for  the  milk  and 
baby  bottle. 

I  was  not  gone  long,  and  when  I  returned  and  opened  the 
door  of  our  bedroom  I  saw  Ormsby  on  his  hands  and  knees 
in  the  bed,  with  the  bed  covers  drawn  up  over  his  head,  and 
looking  for  all  the  world  like  a  kneeling  dromedary.    Orms- 


ORMSBY'S  ENFANT  TERRIBLE  139 

by  was  warbling  "Hello  Mah  Baby,"  and  the  infant  was 
crooning  plaintively. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  I  asked  in  amazement. 

"Smothering  the  sound.    Did  you  get  the  milk?" 

"Yes !"  I  replied. 

"Warm  it!" 

Then  the  warbling  resumed — this  time  a  dirge  adaptation 
of  "I'll  Never  Go  to  Heaven  Till  I  Die." 

I  heated  the  milk,  and  when  we  had  forced  the  nozzle  of 
the  bottle  between  the  toothless  jaws  of  the  infant,  quiet 
was  again  restored  and  my  colleague  and  I  took  advantage 
of  the  respite  to  secure  a  few  minutes'  rest. 

"If  it  only  wasn't  a  girl,"  sighed  Ormsby. 

"I  say,  old  man,"  returned  I,  "this  is  getting  to  be  a  sort 
of  compromising  business  all  around.  It  seems  to  me  that  as 
you  are  responsible  for  this  utterly  idiotic  predicament,  you 
ought  to  bear  the  odium  of  it  yourself.  I  think  I'll  go  round 
to  a  hotel  somewhere  and  turn  in  for  the  night." 

"Now  Mac — please  Mac — don't  leave  me  this  way,  Mac ! 
I  haven't  treated  you  right — I  know  it — I  apologize." 

Ormsby  was  coming  round  now.  I  felt  half  tempted  to 
pity  him,  but  I  thought  of  Gilberta  and — don't  I  despise  a 
man  who,  while  playing  a  winning  game,  weakens  at  critical 
moments? 

By  this  time  my  colleague's  perquisite  had  had  enough 
of  the  bottle,  and  forthwith  resumed  its  series  of  vocal  ex- 
ercise. Ormsby  made  a  flying  leap  towards  the  bed  and 
drew  the  covers  over  the  distorted  features  of  his  charge. 

"Mac,  this  thing  can't  go  on  forever.  We  must  stop  it 
you  know — we  must!" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "that  field  of  invention  is  absolutely  and 
solely  yours.    Stop  it  by  all  means." 

"Perhaps,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "perhaps  a  little  chloral, 
or  morphine,  administered  in  small  doses,  might  have  a 
salutary  effect.     Would  you — ?" 

"No,  no,  Ormsby!"  I  exclaimed,  assuming  an  attitude  of 
tragic  expostulation.  "None  of  that  here.  Silence  it  by 
legitimate  means  or  I'll  get  out." 


140  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"Of  course  I  didn't  mean  that,"  returned  my  room-mate 
disconsolately.    "I  merely  offered  it  as  a  suggestion." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  I  said  dryly. 

Here  the  young  lady  suddenly  began  to  emit  a  volume 
of  sounds  such  as  I  should  have  believed  impossible  to  have 
been  generated  in  a  pair  of  lungs  so  small  and  immature, 
Ormsby  thrust  his  hands  into  his  disheveled  locks  and  began 
to  sing. 

"Go  it,"  I  cried  gleefully.    "That  will  fetch  her." 

"Sing!  Sing!  Hang  you,  sing!"  cried  Ormsby  fiercely, 
and  as  he  glared  threateningly  at  me  he  clenched  his  fists. 

I  joined  in.  The  tune  we  mutually  agreed  upon  was 
"Sailing,  Sailing."  There  is  a  lot  of  volume  to  that  old  air, 
and  we  threw  our  very  souls  into  its  interpretation. 

It  must  be  observed  that  our  object  was  not  so  much  to 
quiet  the  infant  as  to  prevent  its  cries  from  being  heard. 
Ormsby  sang  an  agonized  tenor,  and  I,  who  always  prided 
myself  on  the  possibilities  of  my  uncultivated  bass,  went 
about  my  task  deliberately. 

In  three  minutes  Ormsby  was  a  line  and  a  half  ahead  of 
me  and  gaining  steadily.  No  matter,  thought  I,  the  instincts 
of  a  true  artist  should  not  be  thrust  aside  for  the  empty 
honor  to  be  derived  from  outdistancing  a  hopeless  tenor  in  a 
reach  for  notes. 

Thus  it  went  on  for  several  minutes,  until  at  length  I  be- 
gan to  find  the  discord  getting  somewhat  monotonous, 
Then  without  a  word  of  warning  I  sailed  into  "Bring  Back 
My  Bonnie  to  Me." 

Pretty  soon  Ormsby  followed  suit,  and  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore he  caught  up  and  passed  me. 

The  last  named  musical  gem  is,  of  course,  rather  short, 
and  as  Ormsby  arrived  at  the  end  of  it  first,  he  waded  in  on 
"Tell  Me  Pretty  Maiden,  Are  There  Any  More  at  Home 
Like  You?"  to  kill  time,  until  we  could  think  of  something 
else. 

And  now  there  began  a  pounding  on  the  wall  and  we 
heard  the  muffled  sound  of  a  human  voice.     We  gave  it  no 


ORMSBY'S  ENFANT  TERRIBLE  141 

heed,  however,  but  went  right  on  with  our  work.  Then  we 
tackled  "Ben  Bolt." 

We  hadn't  finished  with  our  recollections  of  "Sweet 
Alice"  when  we  became  aware  that  somebody  or  aggrega- 
tion of  bodies,  was  or  were  thumping  our  door  vigorously. 

A  thrill  of  joyful  emotion  pervaded  my  spirit.  My 
moment  of  triumph  was  now  at  hand. 

Still  singing  I  went  to  the  door.  Ormsby,  with  the  child 
in  his  arms,  swung  it  to  and  fro  and  was  so  thoroughly  ob- 
livious of  all  else  that  he  failed  to  hear  the  thumping  or  to 
mark  my  purpose. 

I  opened  the  door  and  went  out  into  the  hall.  Nearly 
every  lodger  in  the  house  was  in  evidence.    Still  I  sang. 

"What  in  the  world  is  the  matter?  Have  you  men  taken 
leave  of  your  senses,  or  are  you  intoxicated  ?"  asked  the  be- 
wildered landlady. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Conder,  is  it  you?"  I  exclaimed.  "It  is  all 
right  now.  Father  and  child  are  both  doing  well.  It's  a 
girl." 

There  was  an  exclamation  of  astonishment  from  the  as- 
sembled lodgers. 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  the  amazed  landlady,  shrink- 
ing away  from  me  as  if  I  were  a  lunatic.  The  others  began 
a  cautious  retreat. 

"Why,  you  see  Ormsby  has  been  repeating  the  god  Jupi- 
ter's immortal  experiment — evolving  a  daughter  from  his 
brain,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  We  have  named  the  little 
one  Minerva — Minerva  the  Second,  you  know — beautiful 
child — really  quite  creditable  to  Ormsby.  In  the  dual 
capacity  of  physician  and  nurse,  however,  I  must  forbid  any 
one  to  see  him  until  tomorrow.  Such  an  extraordinary 
drain  on  the  brain  is  a  very  serious  matter,  and  Ormsby, 
you  know,  has  always  been  a  little  delicate  in  this  particu- 
lar." 

Just  then  Ormsby,  realizing  the  fact  that  the  game  was 
up,  ceased  singing,  and  the  lamentations  of  the  infant  again 
became  more  audible.  The  maternal  instinct  of  Mrs.  Conder 
here  asserted  itself. 


142  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"There  is  a  baby  in  there — they  are  murdering  it — the 
brutes !    Give  me  the  child — give  it  to  me,  I  say  1" 

"With  pleasure,"  I  said. 

Then  returning  to  the  room  I  addressed  Ormsby. 

"Kindly  pass  Miss  Minerva  this  way,  old  man.  Mrs. 
Conder  and  Miss  Wylie  would  like  to  have  a  look  at  her." 

After  having  seen  Ormsby 's  face  as  I  saw  it  then,  I  am 
a  devout  believer  in  the  existence  of  Medusa — I  was  nearly 
petrified  myself. 

I  took  the  child  to  Mrs.  Conder,  who  removed  it  to  her 
room. 

Ormsby  and  I  remained  up  all  night  by  ourselves.  I  didn't 
trust  Ormsby  on  that  memorable  occasion.  There  was  an 
expression  of  incipient  homicidal  mania  in  his  eyes,  that  sug- 
gested unpleasant  possibilities,  so  I  remained  up  in  a  spirit 
of  self-protection. 

To  pass  away  the  time  I  opened  the  backgammon  board, 
and  began  to  shake  the  dice.  Presently  Ormsby  picked  up 
the  pieces  and  arranged  them  to  play.  We  played  together 
until  morning — neither  of  us  uttering  a  word. 

At  breakfast  Ormsby  explained  everything,  and  we  all 
listened  indulgently.  When  he  concluded  all  the  boarders 
agreed  that  it  was  really  a  most  extraordinary  experience. 

It  was  somewhat  unfortunate  that  at  this  time  I  should 
be  afflicted  by  that  little  cough  that  had  troubled  me  slightly 
the  night  before.  The  cough  was — greatly  to  my  chagrin  of 
course — evidently  infectious.  It  is  possible,  however,  that 
the  coughing  of  the  other  boarders  was  nothing  more  than 
a  coincidence. 

During  the  next  week  I  observed  that  Gilberta  was  not  so 
cordial  as  she  had  been  toward  Ormsby.  Perhaps  she  sus- 
pected that — oh,  well  I  don't  know. 

Mrs.  Conder  kept  the  child  for  about  a  week,  then,  as  it 
gave  her  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  it  was  at  length  decided  to 
send  it  to  a  foundling  asylum.  The  fair  Gilberta  said  it  was 
a  shame  to  so  dispose  of  it,  and  I  agreed  with  her. 

I  should,  I  suppose,  have  stoped  here ;  but  Gilberta 
seemed  so  regretful.  I,  like  an  idot,  told  her  I  would  send  it 


ORMSBY'S  ENFANT  TERRIBLE  143 

home  to  my  folks,  and  did  so.  Gilberta  thanked  me  with  her 
eyes  and  I  was  satisfied — for  the  time. 

Soon  after  this  Ormsby  and  I  entered  into  practice  in 
neighboring  towns  in  West  Virginia. 

Miss  Minerva,  however,  inflicted  upon  me  a  terrible  bur- 
den of  responsibility.  What  was  I,  an  irresponsible  and 
financially  embarrassed  bachelor,  going  to  do  with  a  little 
child  like  that?  I  was  really  becoming  quite  attached  to  it, 
but  I  had  the  good  sense  to  think  the  matter  over  carefully. 
The  result  was  that  when  Ormsby  married  the  adorable 
Gilberta,  I  offered  Miss  Minerva  to  them  as  a  wedding  pres- 
ent.   Much  to  my  satisfaction,  they  accepted  her  with  thanks. 

J.  Aubrey  Tyson. 


THE  BULLETIN 


HARK ! — the  doctors  come  again, 
Knock — and  enter  doctors  twain- 
Dr.  Keeler,  Dr.  Blane  ;— 
"Well,  sir,  how 
Go  matters  now? 

Please  your  tongue  put  out  again !" 

Meanwhile,  t'other  side  the  bed, 

Doctor  Keeler 

Is  a  feeler 

Of  my  wrist,  and  shakes  his  head : — 
"Rather  low,  we're  rather  low !" 

(Deuce  is  in't,  an  'twere  not  so ! 

Arrowroot,  and  toast — and  water. 

Being  all  my  nursing  daughter. 

By  their  order,  now  allows  me ; 

If  I  hint  at  more  she  rows  me, 

Or  at  best  will  let  me  soak  a 

Crust  of  bread  in  tapioca.) 
"Cool  and  moist  though,  let  me  see — 

Seventy-two,  or  seventy-three, 

Seventy-four,  perhaps,  or  so ; 

Rather  low,  we're  rather  low; 

Now,  what  sort  of  night,  sir,  eh? 

Did  you  take  the  mixture,  pray? 

Iodine  and  anodyne. 

Ipecacuanha  wine, 

And  the  draught  and  pills  at  nine?" 
PATIENT   (loquitur) 
"Coughing,  doctor,  coughing,  sneezing. 

Wheezing,  teazing,  most  unpleasing. 

Till  'Tired  nature's  sweet  restorer,' 

Sleep,  did  cast  her  mantle  o'er  her 

Poor  unfortunate  adorer. 

And  became  at  last  a  snorer. 

Iodine  and  anodyne, 

Ipecacuanha  wine. 

Nor  the  draughts  did  I  decline; 

But  those  horrid  pills  at  nine ! 

Those  I  did  not  try  to  swallow. 

I'M 


THE  BULLETIN  145 

Doctor,  they'd  have  beat  me  hollow. 

I  as  soon 

Could  gulp  the  moon 

Or  the  great  Nassau  balloon, 

Or  a  ball  for  horse  or  hound,  or 

Bullet  for  an  eighteen-pounder." 

DOCTOR    K. 

"Well,  sir — well,  sir — we'll  arrange  it. 
If  you  can't  take  pills,  we'll  change  it; 
Take,  we'll  say, 
A  powder  gray, 

All  the  same  to  us  which  way : 
Each  will  do; 
But,  sir,  you 

Must  perspire  whate'er  you  do, 
(Sudorific  comes  from  sudo!) 
Very  odd,  sir,  how  our  wills 
Interfere  with  taking  pills! 
I've  a  patient,  sir,  a  lady 
Whom  I've  told  you  of  already, 
She'll  take  potions. 
She'll  take  lotions. 

She'll  take  drugs,  and  draughts  by  oceans; 
She'll  take  rhubarb,  senna,  rue; 
She'll  take  powders  gray  and  blue, 
Tinctures,  mixtures,  linctures,  squills. 
But,  sir,  she  will  not  take  pills! 
Now  the  throat,  sir;  how's  the  throat?" 

PATIENT. 

"Why,  I  can't  produce  a  note ! 
I  can't  sound  one  word,  I  think,  whole. 
But  they  hobble. 
And  they  gobble. 

Just  like  soapsuds  down  a  sink-hole, 
Or  I  whisper  like  the  breeze. 
Softly  sighing  through  the  trees!" 

DOCTOR. 

"Well,  sir — well,  sir — never  mind,  sir, 
We'll  put  all  to  rights  you'll  find,  sir: 
Make  no  speeches. 
Get  some  leeches; 
You'll  find  twenty 
Will  be  plenty. 

Clap  them  on,  and  let  them  lie 
On  the  pomum  Adami; 


146  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

Let  them  well  tlic  trachea  drain, 
And  your  larynx, 
And  your  pharynx — 
Please  put  out  your  tongue  again! 
Now,  the  blister ! 
Ay,  the  blister ! 

Let  your  son,  or  else  his  sister, 
Warm  it  well,  then  clap  it  here,  sir; 
All  across  from  ear  to  ear,  sir; 
That  suffices. 
When  it  rises, 

Snip  it,  sir,  and  then  your  throat  on 
Rub  a  little  oil  of  Croton ; 
Never  mind  a  little  pain! 
Please  put  out  your  tongue  again ! 
Now,  sir,  I  must  down  your  maw  stick 
This  small  sponge  of  lunar  caustic. 
Never  mind,  sir. 
You'll  not  find,  sir, 
I,  the  sponge  shall  leave  behind,  sir. 
Or  my  probing  make  you  sick,  sir, 
I  shall  draw  it  back  so  quick,  sir; — 
This  I  call  my  prime  elixir ! 
How,  sir!  choking? 
Pooh!  you're  joking — 
Bless  me!  this  is  quite  provoking! 
What  can  make  you,  sir,  so  wheezy? 
Stay!  sir! — gently! — take  it  easy! 
There,  sir!  that  will  do  today. 
Sir,  I  think  that  we  may  say 
We  are  better,  doctor,  eh? 
Don't  you  think  so,  Doctor  Blane? 
Please  put  out  your  tongue  again ! 
Iodine  and  anodyne. 
Ipecacuanha  wine, 
And  since  you  the  pills  decline. 
Draught  and  powder  gray  at  nine. 
There,  sir !  there,  sir !  now  good  day, 
I've  a  lady  'cross  the  way, 
I  must  see  without  delay !" 
{Exeunt  Doctors.) 

Richard  Harris  Barham. 


M 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA 
I 

DR.     MARTIN    DOBREE 

Y  name  is  Martin  Dobree.  Martin  or  Doctor  Mar- 
tin I  was  called  throughout  Guernsey.  It  will  be 
necessary  to  state  a  few  particulars  about  my 
family  and  position,  before  I  proceed  with  my  part 
of  this  narrative. 

My  father  was  Dr.  Dobree.  He  belonged  to  one  of  the 
oldest  families  in  the  island — a  family  of  distinguished  pur 
sang;  but  our  branch  of  it  had  been  growing  poorer  instead 
of  richer  during  the  last  three  of  four  generations.  We  had 
been  gravitating  steadily  downward. 

My  father  lived  ostensibly  by  his  profession,  but  actually 
upon  the  income  of  my  cousin,  Julia  Dobree,  who  had  been 
his  ward  from  her  childhood.  The  house  we  dwelt  in,  a 
pleasant  one  in  the  Grange,  belonged  to  Julia ;  and  fully 
half  of  the  year's  household  expenses  were  defrayed  by  her. 
Our  practise,  which  he  and  I  shared  between  us,  was  not  a 
large  one,  though  for  its  extent  it  was  lucrative  enough. 
But  there  always  is  an  immense  number  of  medical  men  in 
Guernsey  in  proportion  to  its  population,  and  the  island  is 
healthy.  There  was  small  chance  for  any  of  us  to  make 
a  fortune. 

Then  how  was  it  that  I,  a  young  man  still  under  thirty, 
was  wasting  my  time  and  skill  and  professional  training  by 
remaining  there,  a  sort  of  half  pensioner  on  my  cousin's 
bounty?  The  thickest  rope  that  holds  a  vessel  weighing 
scores  of  tons,  safely  to  the  pier-head,  is  made  up  of  strands 
so  slight  that  almost  a  breath  will  break  them. 

First,  then — and  the  strength  of  two-thirds  of  the  strands 
lay  there — was  my  mother.     I  could  never  remember  the 

147 


148  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

time  when  she  had  not  been  delicate  and  ailing,  even  when  I 
was  a  rough  schoolboy  at  Elizabeth  College.  It  was  that  in- 
firmity of  body  which  occasionally  betrays  the  wounds 
of  a  soul.  I  did  not  comprehend  it  while  I  was  a  boy ;  then 
it  was  headache  only.  As  I  grew  older  I  discovered  that  it 
was  heartache.  The  gnawing  of  perpetual  disappointment, 
worse  than  a  sudden  and  violent  calamity,  had  slowly  eaten 
away  the  very  foundation  of  healthy  life.  No  hand  could 
administer  any  medicine  for  this  disease  except  mine,  and  as 
soon  as  I  was  sure  of  that,  I  felt  what  my  first  duty  was. 

I  knew  where  the  blame  of  this  lay,  if  any  blame  there 
were.  I  had  found  it  out  years  ago  by  my  mother's  silence, 
her  white  cheeks,  and  her  feeble  tone  of  health.  My  father 
was  never  openly  unkind  and  careless,  but  there  was  always 
visible  in  his  manner  a  weariness  of  her,  an  utter  disregard 
for  her  feelings.  He  continued  to  like  young  and  pretty 
women,  just  as  he  had  liked  her  because  she  was  young  and 
pretty.  He  remained  at  the  very  point  he  was  at,  when  they 
began  their  married  life.  There  was  nothing  patently  crimi- 
nal in  it,  God  forbid ! — nothing  to  create  an  open  and  a 
grave  scandal  on  our  little  island.  But  it  told  upon  my 
mother;  it  was  the  one  drop  of  water  falling  day  by  day. 
"A  continual  dropping  in  a  very  rainy  day  and  a  conten- 
tious woman  are  alike,"  says  the  book  of  Proverbs.  My 
father's  small  infidelities  were  much  the  same  to  my  mother. 
She  was  thrown  altogether  upon  me  for  sympathy  and  sup- 
port and  love. 

When  I  first  fathomed  this  mystery,  my  heart  rose  in  very 
undutiful  bitterness  against  Dr.  Dobree ;  but  by-and-by  I 
found  that  it  resulted  less  from  a  want  of  fidelity  to  her  than 
from  a  radical  infirmity  in  his  temperament.  It  was  almost 
as  impossible  for  him  to  avoid  or  conceal  his  preference  for 
younger  and  more  attractive  women,  as  for  my  mother  to 
conquer  the  fretting  vexation  this  preference  caused  to  her. 

Next  to  my  mother  came  Julia,  my  cousin,  five  years  older 
than  I,  who  had  coldly  looked  down  upon  me,  and  snubbed 
me  like  a  sister,  as  a  boy ;  watched  my  progress  through 
Elizabeth  College,  and  through  Guy's  Hospital;  and  per- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  149 

ceived  at  last  that  I  was  a  young  man  whom  it  was  no  dis- 
grace to  call  cousin.  To  crown  all,  she  fell  in  love  with  me ; 
so  at  least  my  mother  told  me,  taking  me  into  her  confidence, 
and  speaking  with  a  depth  of  pleading  in  her  sunken  eyes, 
which  were  worn  with  much  weeping.  Poor  mother!  I 
knew  very  well  what  unspoken  wish  was  in  her  heart. 
Julia  had  grown  up  under  her  care  as  I  had  done,  and  she 
stood  second  to  me  in  her  affection. 

It  is  not  difficult  to  love  any  woman  who  has  a  moderate 
share  of  attractions — at  least  I  did  not  find  it  so  then.  I  was 
really  fond  of  Julia,  too — very  fond.  I  knew  her  as  inti- 
mately as  any  brother  knows  his  sister.  She  had  kept  up  a 
correspondence  with  me  all  the  time  I  was  at  Guy's,  and 
her  letters  had  been  more  interesting  and  amusing  than  her 
conversation  generally  was.  Some  women,  most  cultivated 
women,  can  write  charming  letters ;  and  Julia  was  a  highly 
cultivated  woman.  I  came  back  from  Guy's  with  a  very 
greatly  increased  regard  and  admiration  for  my  cousin  Julia. 

So,  when  my  mother,  with  her  pleading,  wistful  eyes, 
spoke  day  after  day  of  Julia,  of  her  dutiful  love  toward  her, 
and  her  growing  love  for  me,  I  drifted,  almost  without  an 
effort  of  my  own  volition,  into  an  engagement  with  her. 
You  see  there  was  no  counterbalance.  I  was  acquainted  with 
every  girl  of  my  own  class  on  the  island ;  pretty  girls  were 
many  of  them,  but  there  was  after  all  not  one  I  preferred  to 
my  cousin.  My  old  dreams  and  romances  about  love,  com- 
mon to  every  young  fellow,  had  all  faded  into  a  very  com- 
monplace, every-day  vision  of  having  a  comfortable  house 
of  my  own,  and  a  wife  as  good  as  most  other  men's  wives. 
Just  in  the  same  way,  my  ambitious  plans  for  rising  to  the 
very  top  of  the  tree  in  my  profession  had  dwindled  down  to 
satisfaction  with  the  very  limited  practise  of  one  of  our 
island  doctors.  I  found  myself  chained  to  this  rock  in  the 
sea;  all  my  future  life  would  probably  be  spent  there;  and 
Fate  offered  me  Julia  as  the  companion  fittest  for  me.  I 
was  contented  with  my  fate,  and  laughed  off  my  boyish 
fancy  that  I  ought  to  be  ready  to  barter  the  world  for  love. 

Added  to  these  two  strong  ties  keeping  me  in  Guernsey, 


ISO  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

there  were  the  hundred,  the  thousand,  small  associations 
which  made  that  island,  and  my  people  living  upon  it,  dearer 
than  any  other  place  or  any  other  people  in  the  world.  Tak- 
ing the  strength  of  the  rope  which  held  me  to  the  pier-head  as 
represented  by  loo,  then  my  love  for  my  mother  would  stand 
at  665^,  my  engagement  to  Julia  at  about  20,  and  the  re- 
mainder may  go  toward  my  old  associations.  That  is  pretty 
nearly  the  sum  of  it. 

My  engagement  to  Julia  came  about  so  easily  and  natur- 
ally, that  I  was  perfectly  contented  with  it.  We  had  been 
engaged  since  the  previous  Christmas,  and  were  to  be  mar- 
ried in  the  early  summer,  as  soon  as  a  trip  through  Switzer- 
land would  be  agreeable.  We  were  to  set  up  housekeeping 
for  ourselves ;  that  was  a  point  Julia  was  bent  upon.  A 
suitable  house  had  fallen  vacant  in  one  of  the  higher  streets 
of  St.  Peterport,  which  commanded  a  noble  view  of  the  sea 
and  the  surrounding  islands.  We  had  taken  it,  though  it 
was  farther  from  the  Grange  and  my  mother  than  I  should 
have  chosen  my  home  to  be.  She  and  Julia  were  busy,  pleas- 
antly busy,  about  the  furnishings. 

Never  had  I  seen  my  mother  look  so  happy,  or  so  young. 
Even  my  father  paid  her  a  compliment  or  two,  which  had  the 
effect  of  bringing  a  pretty  pink  flush  to  her  white  cheeks  ;  and 
of  making  her  sunken  eyes  shine.  As  to  myself,  I  was  quite 
happy  without  a  doubt.  Julia  was  a  good  girl,  everybody 
said  that,  and  Julia  loved  me  devotedly.  I  was  on  the  point 
of  becoming  master  of  a  house  and  owner  of  a  considerable 
income ;  for  Julia  would  not  hear  of  there  being  any  mar- 
riage settlements  which  would  secure  to  her  the  property  she 
was  bringing  to  me.  I  found  that  making  love,  even  to  my 
cousin  who  was  like  a  sister  to  me,  was  upon  the  whole  a 
pleasurable  occupation.  Everything  was  going  on  smoothly. 
That  was,  till  about  the  middle  of  March. 

I  had  been  to  church  one  Sunday  morning  with  these  two 
women,  both  devoted  to  me,  and  centering  all  their  love  and 
hopes  in  me,  when,  as  we  entered  the  house  on  our  return, 
I  heard  my  father  calling  "Martin!  Martin!"  as  loudly  as 
he  could,  from  his  consulting-room.    I  answered  the  call  in- 


THE  DOCTOR'S   DILEMMA  151 

stantly,  and  whom  should  I  see  but  a  very  old  friend  of  mine, 
Tardif,  of  the  Havre  Gosselin.  He  was  standing  near  the 
door,  as  if  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  sit  down.  His  handsome 
but  weather-beaten  face  betrayed  great  anxiety,  and  his 
shaggy  mustache  rose  and  fell,  as  if  the  mouth  below  it  was 
tremulously  at  work.  My  father  looked  chagrined  and  ir- 
resolute. 

"Here's  a  pretty  piece  of  work,  Martin,"  he  said;  "Tardif 
wants  one  of  us  to  go  back  with  him  to  Sark,  to  see  a 
woman  who  has  fallen  from  the  cliiifs  and  broken  her  arm, 
confound  it!" 

"For  the  sake  of  the  good  God,  Dr.  Martin,"  cried  Tardif 
excitedly,  and  of  course  speaking  in  the  Sark  dialect,  "I  beg 
of  you  to  come  this  instant  even.  She  has  been  lying  in 
anguish  since  mid-day  yesterday — twenty-four  hours  now, 
sir.  I  started  at  dawn  this  morning,  but  both  wind  and  tide 
were  against  me,  and  I  have  been  waiting  here  some  time. 
Be  quick,  doctor.    Alon  Dieu!  if  she  should  be  dead!" 

The  poor  fellow's  voice  faltered,  and  his  eyes  met  mine 
imploringly.  He  and  I  had  been  fast  friends  in  my  boyhood, 
when  all  my  holidays  were  spent  in  Sark,  although  he  was 
some  years  older  than  I ;  and  our  friendship  was  still  firm 
and  true,  though  it  had  slackened  a  little  from  absence.  I 
took  his  hand  heartily,  giving  it  a  good  hard  grip  in  token 
of  my  unaltered  friendship — a  grip  which  he  returned  with 
his  fingers  of  iron  till  my  own  tingled  again. 

"I  knew  you'd  come,"  he  gasped. 

"Ah,  I'll  go,  Tardif,"  I  said ;  "only  I  must  get  a  snatch  of 
something  to  eat  while  Dr.  Dobree  puts  up  what  I  shall  have 
need  of.  I'll  be  ready  in  half  an  hour.  Go  into  the  kitchen, 
and  get  some  dinner  yourself." 

"Thank  you,  Dr.  I^Iartin,"  he  answered,  his  voice  still  un- 
steady and  his  mustache  quivering;  "but  I  can  eat  nothing. 
I'll  go  down  and  have  the  boat  ready.  You'll  waste  no 
time?" 

"Not  a  moment,"  I  promised. 

I  left  my  father  to  put  up  the  things  I  should  require, 
supposing  he  had  heard  all  the  particulars  of  the  accident 


152  THE  DOCTOR'S   DOMICILE 

from  Tardif.  He  was  inclined  to  grumble  a  little  at  me  for 
going ;  but  I  asked  him  what  else  I  could  have  done.  As  he 
had  no  answer  ready  to  that  question,  I  walked  away  to  the 
dining-room,  where  my  mother  and  Julia  were  waiting ;  for 
dinner  was  ready,  as  we  dined  early  on  Sundays  on  account 
of  the  servants.  Julia  was  suffering  from  the  beginning  of  a 
bilious  attack,  to  which  she  was  subject,  and  her  eyes  were 
heavy  and  dull.  I  told  them  hastily  where  I  was  going,  and 
what  a  hurry  I  was  in. 

"You  are  never  going  across  to  Sark  today !"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"Why  not?"  I  asked,  taking  my  seat  and  helping  myself 
quickly. 

"Because  I  am  sure  bad  weather  is  coming,"  she  an- 
swered, looking  anxiously  through  a  window  facing  the 
west.  "I  could  see  the  coast  of  France  this  morning  as 
plainly  as  Sark,  and  the  gulls  are  keeping  close  to  the  shore, 
and  the  sunset  last  night  was  threatening.  I  will  go  and 
look  at  the  storm-glass." 

She  went  away,  but  came  back  again  very  soon,  with  an 
increase  of  anxiety  in  her  face.  "Don't  go,  dear  Martin," 
she  said,  with  her  hand  upon  my  shoulder ;  "the  storm-glass 
is  as  troubled  as  it  can  be,  and  the  wind  is  veering  round  to 
the  west.  You  know  what  that  foretells  at  this  time  of  the 
year.  There  is  a  storm  at  hand ;  take  my  word  for  it,  and 
don't  venture  across  to  Sark  today." 

"And  what  is  to  become  of  the  poor  woman?"  I  remon- 
strated. "Tardif  says  she  has  been  suffering  the  pain  of  a 
broken  limb  these  twenty-four  hours.  It  would  be  my  duty 
to  go  even  if  the  storm  were  here,  unless  the  risk  was  ex- 
ceedingly great.  Come,  Julia,  remember  you  are  to  be  a 
doctor's  wife,  and  don't  be  a  coward." 

"Don't  go!''  she  reiterated,  "for  my  sake  and  your 
mother's.  1  am  certain  some  trouble  will  come  of  it.  We 
shall  be  frightened  to  death ;  and  this  woman  is  only  a 
stranger  to  you.    Oh,  I  cannot  bear  to  let  you  go!" 

I  did  not  attempt  to  reason  with  her,  for  I  knew  of  old 
that  when  Julia  was  bilious  and  nervous  she  was  quite  deaf 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  i53 

to  reason.  I  only  stroked  the  hand  that  lay  on  my  shoulder, 
and  went  on  with  my  dinner  as  if  my  life  depended  upon  the 
speed  with  which  I  despatched  it. 

"Uncle,"  she  ;,aid,  as  my  father  came  in  with  a  small  port- 
manteau in  his  hand,  "tell  Martin  he  must  not  go.  There  is 
sure  to  be  a  storm  tonight." 

"Pooh!  pooh!"  he  answered.  "I  should  be  glad  enough 
for  Martin  to  stay  at  home,  but  there's  no  help  for  it,  I  sup- 
pose. There  will  be  no  storm  at  present,  and  they'll  run 
across  quickly.  It  will  be  the  coming  back  that  will  be  diffi- 
cult.    You'll  scarcely  get  home  again  tonight,  Martin." 

"No,"  I  said.  "I'll  stop  at  Gavey's,  and  come  back  in  the 
Sark  cutter,  if  it  has  begun  to  ply.  If  not,  Tardif  must  bring 
me  over  in  the  morning." 

"Don't  go,"  persisted  Julia,  as  I  thrust  myself  into  my 
rough  pilot  coat,  and  then  bent  down  to  kiss  her  check. 
Julia  always  presented  me  her  cheek,  and  my  lips  had  never 
met  hers  yet.  My  mother  was  standing  by  and  looking  tear- 
ful, but  she  did  not  say  a  word  ;  she  knew  there  was  no  ques- 
tion about  what  I  ought  to  do.  Julia  followed  me  to  the 
door  and  held  me  fast  with  both  hands  round  my  arm,  sob- 
bing out  hysterically,  "Don't  go!"  Even  when  I  had  re- 
leased myself  and  was  running  down  the  drive,  I  could  hear 
her  still  calling,  "O  Martin,  don't  go !" 

I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  hearing.  I  felt  sorry  for  her,  yet 
there  was  a  considerable  amount  of  pleasure  in  being  the  ob- 
ject of  so  much  tender  solicitude.  I  thought  of  her  for  a 
minute  or  two  as  I  hurried  along  the  steep  streets  leading 
down  to  the  quay.  But  the  prospect  before  me  caught  my 
eye.  Opposite  lay  Sark,  bathed  in  sunlight,  and  the  sea  be- 
tween was  calm  enough  at  present.  A  ride  across,  with  a 
westerly  breeze  filling  the  sails,  and  the  boat  dancing  lightly 
ovei  the  waves,  would  not  be  a  bad  exchange  for  a  dull 
Sunday  afternoon,  with  Julia  at  the  Sunday-school  and  my 
mother  asleep.  Besides,  it  was  the  path  of  duty  which  was 
leading  me  across  the  quiet  gray  sea  before  me. 

Tardif  was  waiting,  with  his  sails  set  and  oars  in  the  row- 
locks, ready  for  clearing  the  harbor.     I  took  one  of  them, 


154  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

and  bent  myself  willingly  to  the  light  task.  There  was  less 
wind  than  I  had  expected,  but  what  there  was  blew  in  our 
favor.  We  were  very  quickly  beyond  the  pier-head,  where  a 
group  of  idlers  was  always  gathered,  who  sent  after  us  a  few 
warning  shouts.  Nothing  could  be  more  exhilarating  than 
our  onward  progress.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been  a  prisoner, 
with  chains  which  had  pressed  heavily  yet  insensibly  upon 
me,  and  that  now  I  was  free.  I  drew  into  my  lungs  the 
fresh,  bracing,  salt  air  of  the  sea  with  a  deep  sigh  of  de- 
light. 

It  struck  me  after  a  while  that  my  friend  Tardif  was  un- 
usually silent.  The  shifting  of  the  sails  appeared  to  give 
him  plenty  to  do ;  and  to  my  surprise,  instead  of  keeping  to 
the  ordinary  course,  he  ran  recklessly  as  it  seemed  across 
the  gritnes,  which  lie  all  about  the  bed  of  the  channel  be- 
tween Guernsey  and  Sark.  These  grunes  are  reefs,  rising  a 
little  above  low  water,  but  as  the  tide  was  about  half-flood 
they  were  a  few  feet  below  it ;  yet  at  times  there  was  scarcely 
enough  depth  to  float  us  over  them,  while  the  brown  sea- 
weed torn  from  their  edges  lay  in  our  wake,  something  like 
the  swaths  of  grass  in  a  meadow  after  the  scythe  has  swept 
through  it.  Now  and  then  came  a  bump  and  a  scrape  of  the 
keel  against  their  sharp  ridges. 

The  sweat  stood  in  beads  upon  Tardif's  face,  and  his  thick 
hair  fell  forward  over  his  forehead,  where  the  great  veins  in 
the  temples  were  purple  and  swollen.  I  spoke  to  him  after 
a  heavier  bump  over  the  rocks  than  any  we  had  yet  come  to. 

"Tardif,"  I  said,  "we  are  shaving  the  weeds  a  little  too 
close,  aren't  we?" 

"Look  behind  you,  Dr.  Martin,"  he  answered,  shifting  the 
sails  a  little. 

I  did  look  behind  us.  We  were  more  than  half-way  over 
the  channel,  and  Guernsey  lay  four  miles  or  so  west  of  us ; 
but  instead  of  the  clear  outline  of  the  island  standing  out 
against  the  sky,  I  could  see  nothing  but  a  bank  of  white  fog ; 
the  afternoon  sun  was  shining  brightly  over  it,  but  before 
long  it  would  dip  into  its  dense  folds. 

The  fogs  about  our  islands  are  peculiar.     You  may  see 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  13S 

them  form,  apparently  thick  blocks  of  blanched  vapor,  with 
a  distinct  line  between  the  atmosphere  where  the  haze  is  and 
where  it  is  not.  To  be  overtaken  by  a  fog  like  this,  which 
would  almost  hide  Tardif  at  one  end  of  the  boat  from  me 
at  the  other,  would  be  no  laughing  matter  in  a  sea  lined 
with  sunken  reefs.  The  wind  had  almost  gone,  but  a  little 
breeze  still  caught  us  from  the  north  of  the  fog-bank.  With- 
out a  word  I  took  the  oars  again,  while  Tardif  devoted  him- 
self to  the  sails  and  the  helm. 

"A  mile  nearer  home,"  he  said,  "and  I  could  row  my  boat 
as  easily  in  the  dark  as  you  could  ride  your  horse  along  a 
lane." 

II 

A    SURPRISE 

My  face  was  turned  westward  now,  and  I  kept  my  eye 
upon  the  fog-bank  creeping  stealthily  after  us.  I  thought 
of  my  mother  and  Julia,  and  the  fright  they  would  be  in. 
Moreover  a  fog  like  this  was  pretty  often  succeeded  by  a 
squall,  especially  at  this  season ;  and  when  a  westerly  gale 
blew  up  from  the  Atlantic  in  the  month  of  March,  no  one 
could  foretell  when  it  would  cease. 

I  had  been  weather-bound  in  Sark,  when  a  boy,  for  three 
weeks  at  one  time,  when  provisions  ran  short,  and  it  was  al- 
most impossible  to  buy  a  loaf  of  bread.  I  could  not  help 
laughing  at  the  recollection,  but  I  kept  an  anxious  lookout 
toward  the  west.  Three  weeks'  imprisonment  in  Sark  now 
would  be  a  bore. 

But  the  fog  remained  almost  stationary  in  front  of  Guern- 
sey, and  the  round  red  eyeball  of  the  sun  glared  after  us  as 
we  ran  nearer  and  nearer  to  Sark.  The  tide  was  with  us, 
and  carried  us  on  buoyantly.  We  anchored  at  the  fisher- 
man's landing-place  below  the  cliff  of  the  Havre  Gosselin, 
and  we  climbed  readily  up  the  rough  ladder  which  leads  to 
the  path.  Tardif  made  his  boat  secure,  and  followed  me ; 
he  passed  me,  and  strode  on  up  the  steep  track  to  the  summit 
of  the  cliff,  as  if  impatient  to  reach  his  home.    It  was  then 


1S6  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

that  I  gave  my  first  serious  thought  to  the  woman  who  had 
met  with  the  accident. 

"Tardif,  who  is  the  person  that  is  hurt?"  I  asked,  "and 
whereabout  did  she  fall?" 

"She  fell  down  yonder,"  he  answered,  with  an  odd  quiver 
in  his  voice,  as  he  pointed  to  a  rough  and  rather  high  por- 
tion of  the  cliff  running  inland  ;  "the  stones  rolled  from  un- 
der her  feet  so,"  he  added,  crushing  down  a  quantity  of  the 
loose  gravel  with  his  foot,  "and  she  slipped.  She  lay  on  the 
shingle  underneath  for  two  hours  before  I  found  her — two 
hours.  Dr.  Martin !" 

"That  was  bad,"  I  said,  for  the  good  fellow's  voice  failed 
him — "very  bad.    A  fall  like  that  might  have  killed  her." 

We  went  on,  he  carrying  his  oars,  and  I  my  little  port- 
manteau. I  heard  Tardif  muttering,  "Killed  her!"  in  a  tone 
of  terror ;  but  his  face  brightened  a  little  when  we  reached 
the  gate  of  the  farmyard.  He  laid  down  the  oars  noiselessly 
upon  the  narrow  stone  causeway  before  the  door,  and  lifted 
the  latch  as  cautiously  as  if  he  was  afraid  to  disturb  some 
sleeping  baby. 

He  had  given  me  no  information  with  regard  to  my  pa- 
tient ;  and  the  sole  idea  I  had  formed  of  her  was  of  a  strong, 
sturdy,  Sark  woman,  whose  constitution  would  be  tough, 
and  her  temperament  of  a  stolid,  phlegmatic  tone.  There 
was  not  ordinarily  much  sickness  among  them,  and  this  case 
was  evidently  one  of  pure  accident.  I  expected  to  find  a 
nut-brown,  sunburnt  woman,  with  a  rustic  face,  who  would 
very  probably  be  impatient  and  unreasonable  under  the  pain 
I  should  be  compelled  to  inflict  upon  her. 

It  had  been  my  theory  that  a  medical  man,  being  admitted 
to  the  highest  degree  of  intimacy  with  his  patients,  was 
bound  to  be  as  insensible  as  an  anchorite  to  any  beauty  or 
homeliness  in  those  whom  he  was  attending  professionally ; 
he  should  have  eyes  only  for  the  malady  he  came  to  consider 
and  relieve.  Dr.  Dobree  had  often  sneered  and  made  merry 
at  my  high-flown  notions  of  honor  and  duty ;  but  in  our 
practise  at  home  he  had  given  me  no  opportunities  of  trying 
them.    He  had  attended  all  our  younger  and  more  attractive 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  157 

patients  himself,  and  had  handed  over  to  my  care  all  the  old 
people  and  children — on  Julia's  account,  he  had  said,  laugh- 
ing. 

Tardif's  mother  came  to  us  as  we  entered  the  house.  She 
was  a  little  ugly  woman,  stone  deaf,  as  I  knew  of  old.  Yet 
in  some  mysterious  way  she  could  make  out  her  son's  deep 
voice,  when  he  shouted  into  her  ear.  He  did  not  speak  now, 
however,  but  made  dumb  signs  as  if  to  ask  how  all  was  go- 
ing on.  She  answered  by  a  silent  nod,  and  beckoned  me  to 
follow  her  into  a  inner  room,  which  opened  out  of  the 
kitchen. 

It  was  a  small  crowded  room,  with  a  ceiling  so  low,  it 
seemed  to  rest  upon  the  four  posts  of  the  bedstead.  There 
were  of  course  none  of  the  dainty  little  luxuries  about  it 
with  which  I  was  familiar  in  my  mother's  bedroom.  A  long, 
low  window,  opposite  the  bed,  threw  a  strong  light  upon  it. 
There  were  check  curtains  drawn  round  it  and  a  patch- 
work quilt  and  rough,  home-spun  linen.  Everything  was 
clean,  but  coarse  and  frugal,  such  as  I  expected  to  find  about 
my  Sark  patient,  in  the  home  of  a  fisherman. 

But  when  my  eye  fell  upon  the  face  resting  on  the  rough 
pillow,  I  paused  involuntarily,  only  just  controlling  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise.  There  was  absolutely  nothing  in  the 
surroundings  to  mark  her  as  a  lady,  yet  I  felt  in  a  moment 
that  she  was  one.  There  lay  a  delicate,  refined  face,  white 
as  the  linen,  with  beautiful  lips  almost  as  white ;  and  a  mass 
of  light,  shining  silky  hair  tossed  about  the  pillow ;  and  large 
dark  eyes  gazing  at  me  beseechingly,  with  an  expression 
that  made  my  heart  leap  as  it  had  never  leapt  before. 

That  was  what  I  saw,  and  could  not  forbear  seeing.  I 
tried  to  recall  my  theory,  and  to  close  my  eyes  to  the  pathetic 
beauty  of  the  face  before  me ;  but  it  was  altogether  in  vain. 
If  I  had  seen  her  before,  or  if  I  had  been  prepared  to  see 
any  one  like  her,  I  might  have  succeeded ;  but  I  was  com- 
pletely thrown  off  my  guard.  There  the  charming  face 
lay;  the  eyes  gleaming,  the  white  forehead  tinted,  and  the 
delicate  mouth  contracting  with  pain,  the  bright  silky  curls 


158  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

tossed  about  in  confusion.    I  see  it  now,  just  as  I  saw  it 
then. 


Ill 


WITHOUT  RESOURCES 

I  suppose  I  did  not  stand  still  more  than  five  seconds,  yet 
during  that  pause  a  host  of  questions  had  flashed  through 
my  brain.  Who  was  this  beautiful  creature?  Where  had 
she  come  from?  How  did  it  happen  that  she  was  in  Tar- 
dif's  house?  and  so  on.  But  I  recalled  myself  sharply  to  my 
senses ;  I  was  here  as  her  physician,  and  common  sense  and 
duty  demanded  of  me  to  keep  my  head  clear. 

I  then  advanced  to  her  side,  and  took  the  small,  blue- 
veined  hand  into  mine,  and  felt  her  pulse  with  my  fingers. 
It  beat  under  them  a  low  but  fast  measure ;  too  fast  by  a 
great  deal.  I  could  see  that  the  general  condition  of  her 
health  was  perfect,  a  great  charm  in  itself  to  me ;  but  she 
had  been  bearing  great  pain  for  over  twenty-eight  hours, 
and  she  was  becoming  exhausted.  A  shudder  ran  through 
me  at  the  thought  of  that  long  spell  of  suffering. 

"You  are  in  very  great  pain,  I  fear,"  I  said,  lowering  my 
voice. 

"Yes,"  her  white  lips  answered,  and  she  tried  to  smile  a 
patient  though  a  dreary  smile,  as  she  looked  up  into  my 
face  ;  "my  arm  is  broken.    Are  you  a  doctor?" 

"I  am  Dr.  Martin  Dobree,"  I  said,  passing  my  hand 
softly  down  her  arm.  The  fracture  was  above  the  elbow, 
and  was  of  a  kind  to  make  the  setting  of  it  give  her  sharp, 
acute  pain.  I  could  see  she  was  scarcely  fit  to  bear  any 
further  suffering  just  then;  but  what  was  to  be  done?  She 
was  not  likely  to  get  much  rest  till  the  bone  was  set. 

"Have  you  had  much  sleep  since  your  fall?"  I  asked, 
looking  at  the  weariness  visible  in  her  eyes. 

"Not  any,"  she  replied  ;  "not  one  moment's  sleep." 

"Did  you  have  no  sleep  all  night?"  I  inquired  again. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  159 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  could  not  fall  asleep." 

There  were  two  things  I  would  do — give  her  an  opiate, 
and  strengthen  her  with  sleep  beforehand,  or  administer 
chloroform  to  her  before  the  operation.  I  hesitated  between 
the  two.  A  natural  sleep  would  have  done  her  a  world  of 
good,  but  there  was  a  gleam  in  her  eyes,  and  a  feverish 
throb  in  her  pulse,  which  gave  me  no  hope  of  that.  Per- 
haps the  chloroform,  if  she  had  no  objection  to  it,  would  an- 
swer best. 

"Did  you  ever  take  chloroform?"  I  asked. 

"No,  I  never  needed  it,"  she  answered. 

"Should  you  object  to  taking  it?" 

"Anything,"  she  replied  passively.  "I  will  do  anything 
you  wish." 

I  went  back  into  the  kitchen  and  opened  the  portmanteau 
my  father  had  put  up  for  me.  Splints  and  bandages  were 
there  in  abundance,  enough  to  set  half  the  arms  in  the  island, 
but  neither  chloroform  nor  anything  in  the  shape  of  an 
opiate  could  I  find.  I  might  almost  as  well  have  come  to 
Sark  altogether  unprepared  for  my  case. 

What  could  I  do  ?  There  are  no  shops  in  Sark,  and  drugs 
of  any  kind  were  out  of  the  question.  There  was  not  a 
chance  of  getting  what  I  needed  to  calm  and  soothe  a  highly- 
nervous  and  finely-strung  temperament  like  my  patient's.  A 
few  minutes  ago  I  had  hestitated  about  using  chloroform. 
Now  I  would  have  given  half  of  everything  I  possessed  in 
the  world  for  an  ounce  of  it. 

I  said  nothing  to  Tardif,  who  was  watching  me  with  his 
deep-set  eves,  as  closely  as  if  I  was  meddling  with  some 
precious  possession  of  his  own.  I  laid  the  bundle  of  splints 
and  rolls  of  linen  down  on  the  table  with  a  professional  air, 
while  I  was  inwardly  execrating  my  father's  negligence. 

I  emptied  the  portmanteau  in  the  hope  of  finding  some 
small  phial  or  box.  Any  opiate  would  have  been  welcome 
to  me,  that  would  have  dulled  those  over-wrought  nerves. 
But  the  practise  of  using  anything  of  the  kind  was  not  in 
favor  with  us  generally  in  the  Channel  Islands,  and  my 
father  had  probably  concluded  that  a  Sark  woman  would  not 


i6o  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

consent  to  use  them.    At  any  rate,  tlicy  were  not  to  be  found. 

I  stood  for  a  few  minutes  deep  in  thought.  The  daylight 
was  going,  and  it  was  useless  to  waste  time ;  yet  I  found 
myself  shrinking  oddly  from  the  duty  before  me.  Tardif 
could  not  help  but  see  my  chagrin  and  hesitation. 

"Doctor,"  he  cried,  "she  is  not  going  to  die?" 

"No,  no,"  I  answered,  calling  back  my  wandering  thoughts 
and  energies ;  "there  is  not  the  smallest  danger  of  that.  I 
must  go  and  set  her  arm  at  once,  and  then  she  will  sleep." 

I  returned  to  the  room,  and  raised  her  as  gently  and  pain- 
lessly as  I  could,  motioning  to  the  old  woman  to  sit  beside 
her  on  the  bed,  and  hold  her  steadily.  I  thought  once  of 
calling  in  Tardif  to  support  her  with  his  strong  frame,  but 
I  did  not. 

She  moaned,  though  very  softly,  when  I  moved  her,  and 
she  tried  to  smile  again  as  her  eyes  met  mine  looking  anx- 
iously at  her.  That  smile  made  me  feel  like  a  child.  If  she 
did  it  again  I  knew  my  hands  would  be  unsteady,  and  her 
pain  would  be  tenfold  greater. 

"I  would  rather  you  cried  out  or  shouted,"  I  said.  "Don't 
try  to  control  yourself  when  I  hurt  you.  You  need  not  be 
afraid  of  seeming  impatient,  and  a  loud  scream  or  two 
would  do  you  good." 

But  I  knew  quite  well,  as  I  spoke,  that  she  would  never 
scream  aloud.  There  was  the  self-control  of  culture  about 
her.  A  woman  of  a  lower  class  might  shriek  and  cry,  but 
this  girl  would  try  to  smile  at  the  moment  when  the  pain 
was  keenest.  The  white  round  arm  under  my  hands  was 
cold,  and  the  muscles  were  soft  and  unstrung. 

I  felt  the  ends  of  the  broken  bone  grating  together  as  I 
drew  them  into  their  right  places,  and  the  sensation  went 
through  and  through  me.  I  had  set  scores  of  broken  limbs 
before  with  no  feeling  like  this,  which  was  so  near  un-nerv- 
ing  me.  But  I  kept  my  hands  steady,  and  my  attention  fixed 
upon  my  work.  I  felt  like  two  persons — a  surgeon  who  had 
a  simple  scientific  operation  to  perform,  and  a  mother  who 
feels  in  her  own  person  every  pang  her  child  has  to  suffer. 

All  the  time  the  girl's  white  face  and  firmly-set  lips  la)^ 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  i6i 

under  my  gaze,  with  the  wide-open,  unflinching  eyes  looking 
straight  at  me :  a  mournful,  silent,  appealing  face,  which  be- 
trayed the  pain  I  made  her  suffer  ten  times  more  than  any 
cries  or  shrieks  could  have  done.  I  thanked  God  in  my 
heart  when  it  was  over  and  I  could  lay  her  down  again.  I 
smoothed  the  coarse  pillows  for  her  to  lie  more  comfortably 
upon  them,  and  I  spread  my  cambric  handkerchief  in  a 
double  fold  between  her  cheek  and  the  rough  linen — too 
rough  for  a  soft  cheek  like  hers. 

"Lie  quite  still,"  I  said.  "Do  not  stir,  but  go  to  sleep  as 
fast  as  you  can." 

She  was  not  smiling  now,  and  she  did  not  speak ;  but  the 
gleam  in  her  eyes  was  growing  wilder,  and  she  looked  at 
me  with  a  wandering  expression.  If  sleep  did  not  come 
very  soon  there  would  be  mischief.  I  drew  the  curtains 
across  the  window  to  shut  out  the  twilight,  and  motioned  to 
the  old  woman  to  sit  quietly  by  the  side  of  our  patient. 

Then  I  went  out  to  Tardif. 

He  had  not  stirred  from  the  place  and  position  in  which 
I  had  left  him.  I  am  sure  no  sound  could  have  reached 
him  from  the  inner  room,  for  we  had  been  so  still  that  dur- 
ing the  whole  time  I  could  hear  the  beat  of  the  sea  dashing 
up  between  the  high  cliffs  of  the  Havre  Gosselin.  Up  and 
down  went  Tardif's  shaggy  mustache,  the  surest  indication 
of  emotion  with  him,  and  he  fetched  his  breath  almost  with 
a  sob. 

"Well,  Dr.  Martin?"  was  all  he  said. 

"The  arm  is  set,"  I  answered,  "and  now  she  must  get 
some  sleep.  There  is  not  the  least  danger,  only  we  will 
keep  the  house  as  quiet  as  possible." 

"I  must  go  and  bring  in  the  boat,"  he  replied,  bestirring 
himself  as  if  some  spell  was  at  an  end.  "There  will  be  a 
storm  tonight,  and  I  should  sleep  the  sounder  if  she  was 
safe  ashore." 

"I'll  come  with  you,"  I  said,  glad  to  get  away  from  the 
seaweed  fire. 

It  was  not  quite  dark,  and  the  cliffs  stood  out  against  the 
sky  in  odder  and  more  grotesque  shapes  than  by  daylight. 


I62  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

A  host  of  sea-mews  were  fluttering  about  and  uttering  the 
most  unearthly  hootings,  but  the  sea  was  as  yet  quite  cahii, 
save  where  it  broke  in  wavering,  serpentine  lines  over  the 
submerged  reefs  which  encircle  the  island.  The  tidal 
current  was  pouring  rapidly  through  the  very  narrow  chan- 
nel between  Sark  and  the  little  isle  of  Breckhou,  and  its  ed- 
dies stretching  to  us  made  it  rather  an  arduous  task  to  get 
Tardif's  boat  on  shore  safely.  But  the  work  was  pleasant 
just  then.  It  kept  our  minds  away  from  useless  anxieties 
about  the  girl.  An  hour  passed  quickly,  and  up  the  ravine, 
in  the  deep  gloom  of  the  overhanging  rocks,  we  made  our 
way  homeward. 

"You  will  not  quit  the  island  tomorrow,  doctor,"  said 
Tardif,  standing  at  his  door,  and  scanning  the  sky  with  his 
keen,  weather-wise  eyes. 

"I  must,"  I  answered  ;  "I  must  indeed,  old  fellow.  You 
are  no  land  lubber,  and  you  will  run  me  over  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"No  boat  will  leave  Sark  tomorrow,"  said  Tardif,  shak- 
ing his  head. 

We  went  in,  and  he  threw  off  his  jacket  and  rolled  up  his 
sleeves,  preparatory  to  frying  some  fish  for  supper.  I  was 
beginning  to  feel  ravenously  hungry,  for  I  had  eaten  nothing 
since  dinner,  and  as  far  as  I  knew  Tardif  had  had  nothing 
since  his  early  breakfast,  but  as  a  fisherman  he  was  used  to 
long  spells  of  fasting.  While  he  was  busy  cooking  I  stole 
quietly  into  the  inner  room  to  look  after  my  patient. 

The  feeble  light  entering  by  the  door,  which  I  left  open, 
showed  me  the  old  woman  comfortably  asleep  in  her  chair, 
but  not  so  the  girl.  I  had  told  her  when  I  laid  her  down 
that  she  must  lie  quite  still,  and  she  was  obeying  me  im- 
plicitly. Her  cheek  still  rested  upon  my  handkerchief,  and 
the  broken  arm  remained  undisturbed  upon  the  pillow  which 
I  had  placed  under  it.  But  her  eyes  were  wide  open  and 
shining  in  the  dimness,  and  I  fancied  I  could  see  her  lips 
moving  incessantly,  though  soundlessly.  I  laid  my  hands 
across  her  eyes,  and  felt  the  long  lashes  brush  against  the 
palm,  but  the  eyelids  did  not  remain  closed. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  163 

"You  must  go  to  sleep,"  I  said,  speaking  distinctly  and 
authoritatively ;  wondering  at  the  time  how  much  power 
my  will  would  have  over  her.  Did  I  possess  any  of  that 
magnetic,  tranquilizing  influence  about  which  Jack  Senior 
and  I  had  so  often  laughed  incredulously  at  Guy's?  Her 
lips  moved  fast ;  for  now  my  eyes  had  grown  used  to  the 
dim  light  I  could  see  her  face  plainly,  but  I  could  not  catch 
a  syllable  of  what  she  was  whispering  so  busily  to  herself. 

Never  had  I  felt  so  helpless  and  disconcerted  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  patient.  I  could  positively  do  nothing  for  her. 
The  case  was  not  beyond  my  skill,  but  all  medical  resources 
were  beyond  my  reach.  Sleep  she  must  have,  yet  how  was 
I  to  administer  it  to  her? 

I  returned,  troubled  and  irritable,  to  search  once  more  my 
empty  portmanteau.  Empty  it  was,  except  of  the  current 
number  of  Punch,  which  my  father  had  considerately  packed 
among  the  splinters  for  my  Sunday  evening  reading.  I 
flung  it  and  the  bag  across  the  kitchen,  with  an  ejaculation 
not  at  all  flattering  to  Dr.  Dobre^'  nor  in  accordance  with  the 
fifth  commandment. 

"What  is  the  matter,  doctor?"  inquired  Tardif. 

I  told  him  in  a  few  sharp  words  what  I  wanted  to  soothe 
my  patient.  In  an  instant  he  left  his  cooking  and  thrust  his 
arms  into  his  blue  jacket  again. 

"You  can  finish  it  yourself,  Doctor  Martin,"  he  said  hur- 
riedly; "I'll  run  over  to  old  mother  Renouf;  she'll  have 
some  herbs  or  something  to  send  mam'zelle  to  sleep." 

"Bring  her  back  with  you,"  I  shouted  after  him  as  he 
sped  across  the  yard.  Mother  Renouf  was  no  stranger  to 
me.  While  I  was  a  boy  she  had  charmed  my  warts  away, 
and  healed  the  bruises  which  were  the  inevitable  conse- 
quences of  cliff-climbing.  I  scarcely  liked  her  coming  in  to 
fill  up  my  deficiencies,  and  I  knew  our  application  to  her  for 
help  would  be  inexpressibly  gratifying.  But  I  had  no  other 
resource  than  to  call  her  in  as  a  fellow-practitioner,  and  I 
knew  she  would  make  a  first-rate  nurse,  for  which  Suzanne 
Tardif  was  unfitted  by  her  deafness. 


i64  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILfi 

IV 

A  RIVAL  PRACTITIONER 

Mother  Renouf  arrived  from  the  other  end  of  the  island 
in  an  incredibly  short  time,  borne  along  by  Tardif  as  if  he 
were  a  whirlwind  and  she  a  leaf  caught  in  its  current.  She 
was  a  short,  squat  old  woman,  with  a  skin  tanned  like  leather, 
and  kindly  little  blue  eyes,  which  twinkled  with  delight  and 
pride. 

Yes,  there  they  are,  photographed  somewhere  in  my  brain, 
the  wrinkled,  yellow,  withered  faces  of  the  two  old  women, 
their  watery  eyes  and  toothless  mouths,  with  figures  as 
shapeless  as  the  boulders  on  the  beach,  watching  beside  the 
bed  where  lay  the  white  but  tenderly  beautiful  face  of  the 
young  girl,  with  her  curls  of  glossy  hair  tossed  about  the 
pillow,  and  her  long,  tremulous  eyelashes  making  a  shadow 
on  her  rounded  cheek. 

Mother  Renouf  gave  me  a  hearty  tap  on  the  shoulder,  and 
chuckled  as  merrily  as  the  shortness  of  her  breath,  after  her 
rapid  course,  would  permit.  The  few  English  phrases  she 
knew  fell  far  short  of  expressing  her  triumph  and  exulta- 
tion ;  but  I  was  resolved  to  confer  with  her  affably.  My 
patient's  case  was  too  serious  for  me  to  stand  upon  my 
dignity. 

"Mother,"  I  said,  "have  you  any  simples  to  send  this 
poor  girl  to  sleep?  Tardif  told  me  that  you  had  taken  her 
sprained  ankle  under  your  charge.  I  find  I  have  nothing 
with  me  to  induce  sleep,  and  you  can  help  us  if  any  one  can." 

"Leave  her  to  me,  my  dear  little  doctor,"  she  answered,  a 
laugh  gurgling  in  her  thick  throat ;  "leave  her  to  me.  You 
have  done  your  part  with  the  bones.  I  have  no  touch  at  all 
for  broken  limbs,  though  my  father,  good  man,  could 
handle  them  with  any  doctor  in  all  the  islands.  But  I'll  send 
her  to  sleep  for  you,  never  fear." 

"You  will  stay  with  us  all  night?"  I  said  coaxingly. 
"Suzanne  is  deaf,  and  ears  are  of  use  in  a  sick-room,  you 
know.    I  intended  to  go  to  Gavey's,  but    I  shall  throw  my- 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  i6S 

self  down  here  on  the  fern  bed,  and  you  can  call  me  at  any 
moment,  if  there  is  need." 

"There  will  be  no  need,"  she  replied,  in  a  tone  of  con- 
fidence. "My  little  mam'zelle  will  be  sound  asleep  in  ten 
minutes  after  she  has  taken  my  draught." 

I  went  into  the  room  with  her  to  have  a  look  at  our  pa- 
tient. She  had  not  stirred  yet,  but  was  precisely  in  the  po- 
sition in  which  I  placed  her  after  the  operation  was  ended. 
There  was  something  peculiar  about  this  which  distressed 
me.  I  asked  mother  Renouf  to  move  her  gently,  and  bring 
her  face  more  toward  me.  The  burning  eyes  opened  widely 
as  soon  as  she  felt  the  old  woman's  arm  under  her,  and  she 
looked  up,  with  a  flash  of  intelligence,  into  my  face.  I 
stooped  down  to  catch  the  whisper  with  which  her  lips  were 
moving. 

"You  told  me  not  to  stir,"  she  murmured. 

"Yes,"  I  said ;  "but  you  are  not  to  lie  still  till  you  are 
cramped  and  stiff.    Are  you  in  much  pain  now  ?" 

"He  told  me  not  to  stir,"  muttered  the  parched  lips  again 
— "not  to  stir.     I  must  lie  quite  still,  quite  still,  quite  still !" 

The  feeble  voice  died  away  as  she  whispered  the  last 
words,  but  her  lips  went  on  moving,  as  if  she  was  repeating 
them  to  herself. 

Certainly  there  was  mischief  here.  My  last  order,  given 
just  before  her  mind  began  to  wander,  had  taken  possession 
of  her  brain,  and  retained  authority  over  her  will.  There 
was  a  pathetic  obedience  in  her  perfect  immobility,  united 
with  the  shifting,  restless  glance  of  her  eyes,  and  the  cease- 
less ripple  of  movement  about  her  mouth,  which  made  me 
trebly  anxious  and  uneasy.  A  dominant  idea  had  taken  hold 
upon  her  which  might  prove  dangerous.  I  was  glad  when 
mother  Renouf  had  finished  stewing  her  decoction  of  poppy- 
heads,  and  brought  the  nauseous  draught  for  the  girl  to 
drink. 

But  whether  the  poppyheads  had  lost  their  virtue,  or  our 
patient's  nervous  condition  had  been  too  critical,  too  full  of 
excitement  and  disturbance,  I  cannot  tell.  It  is  certain  that 
she  was  not  sleeping  in  ten  minutes'  or  in  an  hour's  time.  Old 


l66  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

dame  Tardif  went  off  to  her  bedroom,  and  mother  Renouf 
took  her  place  by  the  girl's  side.  Tardif  could  not  be  per- 
suaded to  leave  the  kitchen,  though  he  appeared  to  be  falling 
asleep  heavily,  waking  up  at  intervals,  and  starting  with 
terror  at  the  least  sound.  For  myself  I  scarcely  slept  at  all, 
though  I  found  the  fern  bed  a  tolerably  comfortable  resting- 
place. 

The  gale  that  Tardif  had  foretold  came  with  great  vio- 
lence about  the  middle  of  the  night.  The  wind  howled  up 
the  long  narrow  ravine,  like  a  pack  of  wolves  ;  mighty  storms 
of  hail  and  rain  beat  in  torrents  against  the  windows,  and 
the  sea  lifted  up  its  voice  with  unmistakable  energy.  Now 
and  again  a  stronger  gust  than  the  others  appeared  to 
threaten  to  carry  off  the  thatched  roof  bodily,  and  leave  us 
exposed  to  the  tempest  with  only  the  thick  stone  walls  about 
us;  and  the  latch  of  the  outer  door  rattled  as  if  some  one 
was  striving  to  enter. 

I  am  not  at  all  fanciful,  but  just  then  the  notion  came 
across  me  that  if  that  door  opened  we  should  see  the  grim 
skeleton,  Death,  on  the  threshold,  with  his  bleached,  unclad 
bones  dripping  in  the  storm.  I  laughed  at  the  ghastly  fancy, 
and  told  it  to  Tardif  in  one  of  his  waking  intervals,  but  he 
was  so  terrified  and  troubled  by  it,  that  it  grew  to  have 
some  little  importance  in  my  own  eyes.  So  the  night  wore 
slowly  away,  the  tall  clock  in  the  corner  ticking  out  the  sec- 
onds and  striking  the  hours  with  a  fidelity  to  its  duty, 
which  helped  to  keep  me  awake. 

Twice  or  thrice  I  crept,  with  quite  unnecessary  caution, 
into  the  room  of  my  patient.  No,  there  was  no  symptom  of 
sleep  there.  The  pulse  grew  more  rapid,  the  temples 
throbbed,  and  the  fever  gained  ground.  Mother  Renouf 
was  ready  to  weep  with  vexation.  The  girl  herself  sobbed 
and  shuddered  at  the  loud  sounds  of  the  tempest  without; 
but  yet,  by  a  firm,  supreme  effort  of  her  will,  which  was  ex- 
hausting her  strength  dangerously,  she  kept  herself  quite 
still.  I  would  have  given  up  a  year  or  two  of  my  life  to  be 
able  to  set  her  free  from  the  bondage  of  my  own  command. 


THE  DOCTOR'S   DILEMMA  167 

V 

LOCKS   OF  HAIR 

The  westerly  gale,  rising  every  few  hours  into  a  squall, 
gave  me  no  chance  of  leaving  Sark  the  next  day,  nor  for 
some  days  afterward ;  but  I  was  not  at  all  put  out  by  my 
captivity.  All  my  interest,  my  whole  being  in  fact,  was  ab- 
sorbed in  the  care  of  this  girl,  stranger  as  she  was.  I 
thought  and  moved,  lived  and  breathed,  only  to  fight  step 
by  step  against  delirium  and  death,  and  to  fight  without  my 
accustomed  weapons.  Sometimes  I  could  do  nothing  but 
watch  the  onset  and  inroads  of  the  fever  most  helplessly. 

There  seemed  to  me  to  be  no  possibility  of  aid.  The 
stormy  waters  which  beat  against  that  little  rock  in  the  sea 
came  swelling  and  rolling  in  from  the  vast  plain  of  the 
Atlantic,  and  broke  in  tempestuous  surf  against  the  island. 
The  wind  howled,  and  the  rain  and  hail  beat  across  us  al- 
most incessantly  for  two  days,  and  Tardif  himself  was  kept 
a  prisoner  in  the  house,  except  when  he  went  to  look  after 
his  live  stock.  No  doubt  it  would  have  been  practicable  for 
me  to  get  as  far  as  the  hotel,  but  to  what  good?  It  would 
be  quite  deserted,  for  there  were  no  visitors  to  Sark  at  this 
season,  and  I  did  not  give  it  a  second  thought.  I  was  en- 
tirely engrossed  in  my  patient,  and  I  learned  for  the  first 
time  what  their  task  is,  who  hour  after  hour  watch  the  pro- 
gress of  disease  in  the  person  of  one  dear  to  them. 

Tardif  occupied  himself  with  mending  his  nets,  pausing 
frequently  with  his  solemn  eyes  fixed  upon  the  door  of  the 
girl's  room,  very  much  as  a  patient  mastiff  watches  the  spot 
where  he  knows  his  master  is  near  to  him,  though  out  of 
sight.  His  mother  went  about  her  household  work  plod- 
dingly, and  mother  Renouf  kept  manfully  to  her  post,  in 
turn  with  me,  as  sentinel  over  the  sick-bed.  There  the 
young  girl  lay  whispering,  from  morning  till  night,  and 
from  night  till  morning  again — always  whispering.  The 
fever  gained  ground  from  hour  to  hour.  I  had  no  data  by 
which  to  calculate  her  chances  of  getting  through  it ;  but 
my  hopes  were  very  low  at  times. 


i68  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

On  the  Tuesday  afternoon,  in  a  temporary  lull  of  the  hail 
and  wind,  I  started  off  on  a  walk  across  the  island.  The 
wind  was  still  blowing  from  the  southwest,  and  filling  all 
the  narrow  sea  between  us  and  Guernsey  with  boiling  surge. 
Very  angry  looked  the  masses  of  foam  whirling  about  the 
sunken  reefs,  and  very  ominous  the  low-lying,  hard  blocks 
of  clouds  all  along  the  horizon.  I  strolled  as  far  as  the 
Coupee,  that  giddy  pathway  between  Great  and  Little  Sark, 
where  one  can  see  the  seething  of  the  waves  at  the  foot  of 
the  cliffs  on  both  sides,  three  hundred  feet  below  one. 

Something  like  a  panic  seized  me.  My  nerves  were  too 
far  unstrung  for  me  to  venture  across  the  long  narrow 
isthmus.  I  turned  abruptly  again,  and  hurried  as  fast  as  my 
legs  would  carry  me  back  to  Tardif's  cottage. 

I  had  been  away  less  than  an  hour,  but  an  advantage  had 
been  taken  of  my  absence.  I  found  Tardif  seated  at  the 
table,  with  a  tangle  of  silky,  shining  hair  lying  before  him. 
A  tear  or  two  had  fallen  upon  it  from  his  eyes.  I  under- 
stood at  a  glance  what  it  meant.  Mother  Renouf  had  cut 
off  my  patient's  pretty  curls  as  soon  as  I  was  out  of  the 
house.  I  could  not  be  angry  with  her,  though  I  did  not 
suppose  it  would  do  much  good,  and  I  felt  a  sort  of  resent- 
ment, such  as  a  mother  would  feel,  at  this  sacrifice  of  a 
natural  beauty.  They  were  all  disordered  and  ravelled. 
Tardifs  great  hand  caressed  them  tenderly,  and  I  drew  out 
one  long,  glossy  tress,  and  wound  it  about  my  fingers,  with 
a  heavy  heart. 

"It  is  like  the  pretty  feathers  of  a  bird  that  has  been 
wounded,"  said  Tardif  sorrowfully. 

Just  then  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door  and  a  sharp 
click  of  the  latch,  loud  enough  to  penetrate  dame  Tardif's. 
deaf  ears  or  to  arouse  our  patient,  if  she  had  been  sleeping. 
Before  either  of  us  could  move,  the  door  was  thrust  open, 
and  two  young  ladies  appeared  upon  the  door-sill. 

They  were — it  flashed  across  me  in  a  instant — old  school- 
fellows and  friends  of  Julia's.  I  declare  to  you  honestly,  I 
had  scarcely  had  one  thought  of  Julia  till  now.  My  mother 
I  had  wished  for,  to  take  her  place  by  this  poor  girl's  side. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  i6» 

but  Julia  had  hardly  crossed  my  mind.  Why,  in  Heaven's 
name,  should  the  appearance  of  these  friends  of  hers  be  so 
distasteful  to  me  just  now?  I  had  known  them  all  my  life, 
and  liked  them  as  well  as  any  girls  I  knew ;  but  at  this  mo- 
ment the  very  sight  of  them  was  annoying. 

They  stood  in  the  doorway,  as  much  astonished  and  thun- 
derstricken  as  I  was,  glaring  at  me,  so  it  seemed  to  me, 
with  that  soft,  bright  brown  lock  of  hair  curling  and  cling- 
ing round  my  finger.    Never  had  I  felt  so  foolish  or  guilty. 

VI 

A  RUSE 

"Martin  Dobree!"  ejaculated  both  in  one  breath. 

"Yes,  mesdemoiselles,"  I  said  uncoiling  the  tress  of  hair 
as  if  it  had  been  a  serpent,  and  going  forward  to  meet  them ; 
"are  you  surprised  to  see  me?" 

"Surprised !"  echoed  the  elder.  "No ;  we  are  amazed — 
petrified !  However  did  you  get  here  ?  When  did  you 
come?" 

"Quite  easily,"  I  replied.  "I  came  on  Sunday,  and  Tardif 
fetched  me  in  his  own  boat.  If  the  weather  had  permitted 
I  should  have  paid  you  a  call;  but  you  know  what  it  has 
been." 

"To  be  sure,"  answered  Emma;  "and  how  is  dear  Julia? 
She  will  be  very  anxious  about  you." 

"She  was  on  the  verge  of  a  bilious  attack  when  I  left  her," 
I  said ;  "that  will  tend  to  increase  her  anxiety." 

"Poor,  dear  girl!"  she  replied  sympathetically.  "But, 
Martin,  is  this  young  woman  here  so  very  ill?  We  have 
heard  from  the  Renoufs  she  had  had  a  dangerous  fall.  To 
think  of  you  being  in  Sark  ever  since  Sunday,  and  we  never 
heard  a  word  of  it!" 

No,  thanks  to  Tardifs  quiet  tongue,  and  mother  Renoufs 
assiduous  attendance  upon  mam'zelle,  my  sojourn  in  the 
island  had  been  kept  a  secret ;  now  that  was  at  an  end. 

"Is  that  the  young  woman's  hair?"  asked  Emma,  as  Tar- 
dif gathered  together  the  scattered  tresses  and  tied  them  up 
quickly  in  a  little  white  handkerchief,  out  of  their  sight  and 


170  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

mine.  I  saw  tliem  again  afterward.  Tlie  handkerchief  had 
been  his  wife's — white,  with  a  border  of  pink  roses. 

"Yes,"  I  replied  to  her  question,  "it  was  necessary  to  cut 
it  off.    She  is  dangerously  ill  with  fever." 

Both  of  them  shrank  a  little  toward  the  door.  A  sudden 
temptation  assailed  me,  and  took  me  so  much  by  surprise 
that  I  had  yielded,  before  I  knew  I  was  attacked.  It  was 
their  shrinking  movement  that  did  it.  My  answer  was  al- 
most as  automatic  and  involuntary  as  their  retreat. 

"You  see  it  would  not  be  wise  for  any  of  us  to  go  about," 
I  said.  "A  fever  breaking  out  in  the  island,  especially  now 
you  have  no  resident  doctor,  would  be  very  serious.  I  think 
it  will  be  best  to  isolate  this  case  till  we  see  the  nature  of  the 
fever.  You  will  do  me  a  favor  by  warning  the  people  away 
from  here  at  present.  The  storm  has  saved  us  so  far,  but 
now  we  must  take  other  precautions." 

This  I  said  with  a  grave  tone  and  face,  knowing  all  the 
while  that  there  was  no  fear  whatever  for  the  people  of  Sark. 
Was  there  a  propensity  in  me,  not  hitherto  developed,  to 
make  the  worst  of  a  case? 

"Good-bye,  Martin,  good-bye,"  cried  Emma,  backing  out 
through  the  open  door.  "Come  away,  Maria.  We  have  run 
no  risk  yet,  Martin,  have  we?  Do  not  come  any  nearer  to 
us.  We  have  touched  nothing,  except  shaking  hands  with 
you.    Are  we  quite  safe?" 

"Is  the  young  woman  so  very  ill  ?"  inquired  Maria,  from  a 
safe  distance  outside  the  house. 

I  shook  my  head  in  silence,  and  pointed  to  the  door  of 
the  inner  room,  intimating  to  them  that  she  was  no  farther 
away  than  there.  An  expression  of  horror  came  over  both 
their  faces.  Scarcely  waiting  to  bestow  upon  me  a  gesture 
of  farewell,  they  fled,  and  I  saw  them  hurrying  with  unusual 
rapidity  across  the  fold. 

I  had  at  least  secured  isolation  for  myself  and  my  patient. 
But  why  had  I  been  eager  to  do  so?  I  could  not  answer 
that  question  to  myself,  and  I  did  not  ponder  over  it  many 
minutes.  I  was  impatient,  yet  strangely  reluctant,  to  look 
at  the  sick  girl  again,  after  the  loss  of  her  beautiful  hair. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  I7t 

It  was  still  daylight.  The  change  in  her  appearance  struck 
me  as  singular.  Her  face  before  had  a  look  of  suffering 
and  trouble,  making  it  almost  old,  charming  as  it  was ;  now 
she  had  the  aspect  of  quite  a  young  girl,  scarcely  touching 
upon  womanhood.  Her  hair  had  not  been  shorn  off  closely 
— the  women  could  not  manage  that — and  short,  wavy 
tresses,  like  those  of  a  young  child,  were  curling  about  her 
exquisitely  shaped  head.  The  white  temples,  with  their 
blue,  throbbing  veins,  were  more  visible,  with  the  small,  deli- 
cately shaped  ears.  I  should  have  guessed  her  age  now  as 
barely  fifteen — almost  that  of  a  child.  Thus  changed,  I  felt 
more  myself  in  her  presence,  more  as  I  should  have  been  in 
attendance  upon  any  child.  I  scanned  her  face  narrowly, 
and  it  struck  me  that  there  was  a  perceptible  alteration ;  an 
expression  of  exhaustion  or  repose  was  creeping  over  it. 
The  crisis  of  the  fever  was  at  hand.  The  repose  of  death 
or  the  wholesome  sleep  of  returning  health  was  not  far  off. 
Mother  Renouf  saw  it  as  well  as  myself. 

vn 

WHO   IS   SHE? 

We  sat  up  again  together  that  night,  Tardif  and  I.  He 
would  not  smoke,  lest  the  scent  of  the  tobacco  should  get  in 
through  the  crevices  of  the  door,  and  lessen  the  girl's  chance 
of  sleep ;  but  he  held  his  pipe  between  his  teeth,  taking  an 
imaginary  puff  now  and  then,  that  he  might  keep  himself 
wide  awake.    We  talked  to  one  another  in  whispers. 

"Tell  me  all  you  know  about  mam'zelle,"  I  said.  He  had 
been  chary  of  this  knowledge  before,  but  his  heart  seemed 
open  at  this  moment.  Most  hearts  are  more  open  at  mid- 
night than  at  any  other  hour. 

"There's  not  much  to  tell,  doctor,"  he  answered.  "Her 
name  is  Ollivier,  as  I  said  to  you  ;  but  she  does  not  think  she 
is  any  kin  to  the  Olliviers  of  Guernsey.  She  is  poor,  though 
she  does  not  look  as  if  she  had  been  born  poor,  does  she  ?" 

"Not  in  the  least  degree,"  I  said.  "If  she  is  not  a  lady  by 
birth,  she  is  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  Nature's  gentle- 
folk I  have  ever  come  across." 


173  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"Ah,  there  is  a  difference!"  he  said,  sighing.  "I  feel  it, 
doctor,  in  every  word  I  speak  to  her,  and  every  step  I  walk 
with  her  eyes  upon  me.  Why  cannot  I  be  like  her,  or  like 
you?  You'll  be  on  a  level  with  her,  and  I  am  down  far 
below  her." 

I  looked  at  him  curiously.  The  slouching  figure — well- 
shaped  as  it  was — the  rough,  knotted  hands,  the  unkempt 
mass  of  hair  about  his  head  and  face,  marked  him  for  what 
he  was — a  toiler  on  the  sea  as  well  as  on  the  land.  He  un- 
derstood my  scrutiny,  and  colored  under  it  like  a  girl. 

"You  are  a  better  fellow  than  I  am,  Tardiff,"  I  said  ;  "but 
that  has  nothing  to  do  with  our  talk.  I  think  we  ought  to 
communicate  with  the  young  lady's  friends,  whoever  they 
may  be,  as  soon  as  there  are  any  means  of  communicating 
with  the  rest  of  the  world.  We  should  be  in  a  fix  if  any- 
thing should  happen  to  her.  Have  you  any  clue  of  her 
friends?" 

"She  is  not  going  to  die !"  he  cried.  "No,  no,  doctor. 
God  must  hear  my  prayers  for  her.  I  have  never  ceased  to 
lift  up  my  voice  to  Him  in  my  heart  since  I  found  her  on 
the  shingle.    She  will  not  die !" 

"I  am  not  so  sure,"  I  said ;  "but  in  any  case  we  should 
write  to  her  friends.  Has  she  written  to  anyone  since  she 
came  here?" 

"Not  to  a  soul,"  he  answered  eagerly.  "She  told  me  she 
had  no  friends  nearer  than  Australia.  That  is  a  great  way 
off." 

"And  has  she  had  no  letters  ?"  I  asked. 

"Not  one,"  he  replied.  "She  has  neither  written  nor  re- 
ceived a  single  letter." 

"But  how  did  you  come  across  her?"  I  inquired.  "She  did 
not  fall  from  the  skies,  I  suppose.  How  was  it  she  came 
to  live  in  this  out-of-the-world  place  with  you  ?" 

Tardif  smoked  his  imaginary  pipe  with  great  persever- 
ance for  some  minutes,  his  face  overcast  with  thought.  But 
presently  it  cleared,  and  he  turned  to  me  with  a  frank  smile. 

"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  Doctor  Martin,"  he  said.  "You 
know  the  Seigneur  was  in  London  last  autumn,  and  there 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  i7i 

was  a  little  difficulty  in  the  Court  dcs  Chefs  Plaid  here  about 
an  ordonnancc  we  could  not  agree  over,  and  I  went  across 
to  London  to  see  the  Seigneur  for  myself.  It  was  in  com- 
ing back  I  met  with  Mam'zelle  Ollivier.  I  was  paying  my 
fare  at  Waterloo  Station — the  omnibus  fare  I  mean — and  I 
was  turning  away,  when  I  heard  the  man  speak  grumblingly. 
I  thought  it  was  at  me,  and  I  looked  back,  and  there  she 
stood  before  him,  looking  scared  and  frightened  at  his 
rough  words.  Doctor,  I  never  could  bear  to  see  any  soft, 
tender,  young  thing  in  trouble.  If  it's  nothing  but  a  little 
bird  that  has  fallen  out  of  its  warm  nest  or  a  lamb  slipped 
down  among  the  cliffs,  I  feel  as  if  I  could  risk  my  life  to  put 
it  back  again  in  some  safe  place.  Yes,  and  I  have  done  it 
scores  of  times,  when  I  dare  not  let  my  poor  mother  know. 
Well,  there  stood  mam'zelle,  pale  and  trembling,  with  the 
tears  ready  to  fall,  in  her  eyes ;  just  such  a  soft,  poor,  ten- 
der soul  as  my  little  wife  used  to  be.  You  remember  my 
little  wife.  Doctor  Martin?" 

I  only  nodded  as  he  looked  at  me. 

"Just  such  another,"  he  went  on ;  "only  this  one  was  a 
lady,  and  less  able  to  take  care  of  herself.  Her  trouble  was 
nothing  but  the  omnibus  fare,  and  she  had  no  change,  noth- 
ing but  an  Australian  sovereign ;  so  I  paid  it  for  her.  I 
kept  pretty  near  her  about  the  station  while  she  was  buying 
her  ticket,  for  I  overheard  two  young  men,  who  were  roam- 
ing up  and  down,  say,  as  they  looked  at  her,  'Pas  de  gants, 
et  des  soldiers  de  velours!'  That  was  true;  she  had  no 
gloves  on  her  hands,  and  her  little  feet  had  nothing  on  but 
some  velvet  slippers,  all  wet  and  muddy  with  the  dirty 
streets.  So  I  walked  up  to  her,  as  if  I  had  been  her  serv- 
ant, you  understand,  and  put  her  into  a  carriage,  and  stood 
at  the  door  of  it,  keeping  off  any  young  men  who  wished 
to  get  in — for  she  was  such  a  pretty  young  thing — till  the 
train  was  ready  to  start,  and  then  I  got  into  the  nearest 
second-class  carriage  there  was  to  her." 

"Well,  Tardif?"  I  said  impatiently,  as  he  paused,  looking 
absently  into  the  dull  embers  of  the  sea-weed  fire. 

"I  turned  it  over  in  my  own  mind  then,"  he  continued. 


174  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"and  I've  turned  it  over  in  my  own  mind  since,  and  I  can 
make  no  sort  of  an  account  of  it — a  young  lady  traveling 
without  any  friends  in  a  dress  like  that,  as  if  she  had  not  had 
a  minute  to  spare  in  getting  ready  for  her  journey.  It  was 
a  bad  night  for  a  journey,  too.  Could  she  be  going  to  see 
some  friend  who  was  dying?  At  every  station  I  looked  out 
to  see  if  my  young  lady  left  the  train ;  but  no,  not  even  at 
Southampton.  Was  she  going  on  to  France?  'I  must  look 
out  for  her  at  the  pierhead,'  I  said  to  myself.  But  when  we 
stopped  at  the  pier  I  did  not  want  her  to  think  I  was  watch- 
ing her,  only  I  stood  well  in  the  light,  that  she  might  see  me 
W'hen  she  looked  around.  I  saw  her  stand  as  if  she  was 
considering,  and  I  moved  away  very  slowly  to  our  boat,  to 
give  her  the  chance  of  speaking  to  me  if  she  wished.  But 
she  only  followed  me  very  quietly,  as  if  she  did  not  want  me 
to  see  her,  and  she  went  down  into  the  ladies'  cabin  in  a 
moment,  out  of  sight.  Then  I  thought,  'she  is  running  away 
from  some  one,  or  from  something.'  She  had  no  shawls,  or 
umbrellas,  or  baskets,  such  as  ladies  are  generally  cumbered 
with,  and  that  looked  strange." 

"How  was  she  dressed?"  I  asked. 

"She  wore  a  soft,  bright  brown  jacket,"  he  answered,  "a 
sealskin  they  call  it,  though  I  never  saw  a  seal  with  a  skin 
like  that — and  a  hat  like  it,  and  a  blue  silk  gown,  and  her 
little  muddy  velvet  slippers.  It  was  a  strange  dress  for 
traveling,  wasn't  it,  doctor?" 

"Very  strange,  indeed,"  I  repeated.  An  idea  was  buzzing 
about  my  brain  that  I  had  heard  a  description  exactly  similar 
before,  but  I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me  recall  where.  I 
could  not  wait  to  hunt  it  out  then,  for  Tardif  was  in  a  full 
flow  of  confidence. 

"But  my  heart  yearned  to  her,"  he  said,  "more  than  ever  it 
did  over  any  bird  fallen  from  its  nest,  or  any  lamb  that  had 
slipped  down  the  cliffs.  All  the  softness  and  all  the  helpless- 
ness of  every  poor  little  creature  I  had  ever  seen  in  my  life 
seemed  about  her ;  all  the  hunted  creatures  and  all  the 
trapped  creatures  came  to  my  mind.  I  can  hardly  tell  you 
about  it,  doctor.     I  could  have  risked  my  life  a  hundred 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  175 

times  over  for  her.  It  was  a  rough  night,  and  I  kept  see- 
ing her  pale,  hunted-Iooking  face  before  me,  though  there 
was  not  half  the  danger  I've  often  been  in  round  our  islands. 
I  couldn't  keep  myself  from  fancying  we  were  all  going 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  that  poor  young  thing, 
running  away  from  one  trouble,  was  going  to  meet  a  worse 
— if  it  is  worse  to  die  than  to  live  in  great  trouble.  Doctor 
Martin,  they  tell  me  all  the  bed  of  the  sea  out  yonder  under 
the  Atlantic  is  a  smooth,  smooth  floor,  with  no  currents,  or 
tides,  or  streams,  but  a  great  calm ;  and  there  is  no  life  down 
there  of  any  kind.  Well,  that  night  I  seemed  to  see  the 
dead  who  have  perished  by  the  sea,  lying  there  calm  and 
quiet,  with  their  hands  folded  across  their  breasts.  A  great 
company  it  was,  and  a  great  graveyard,  strewn  over  with 
sleeping  shapes,  all  at  rest  and  quiet,  waiting  till  they  hear 
the  trumpet  of  the  archangel  sounding  so  that  even  the  dead 
will  hear  and  live  again.  It  was  a  solemn  sight  to  see,  doc- 
tor. Somehow  I  came  to  think  it  would  be  not  altogether  a 
bad  thing  for  the  poor,  young,  troubled  creature  to  go  down 
there  among  them  and  be  at  rest.  There  are  some  people 
who  seem  too  tender  and  delicate  for  this  world.  Yet  if 
there  had  come  a  chance  I'd  have  laid  down  my  life  for  hers, 
even  then,  when  I  knew  nothing  much  about  her." 

"Tardif,"  I  said,  "I  did  not  know  what  a  good  fellow 
you  were,  though  I  ought  to  have  learned  it  by  this  time." 

"No,"  he  answered,  "it  is  not  in  me ;  it's  something  in  her. 
You  feel  something  of  it  yourself,  doctor,  or  how  could  you 
sray  in  a  poor  little  house  like  this,  thinking  of  nothing  but 
her,  and  not  caring  about  the  weather  keeping  you  away 
from  home  ?    But  let  me  go  on. 

"In  the  morning  she  came  on  deck,  and  talked  to  me  about 
the  islands,  and  where  she  could  live  cheaply,  and  it  ended  in 
her  coming  home  here  to  lodge  in  our  little  spare  room. 
There  was  another  curious  thing — she  had  not  any  luggage 
with  her,  not  a  box  nor  a  bag  of  any  kind.  She  never 
fancied  that  I  knew,  for  that  would  have  troubled  her.  It 
is  my  belief  that  she  has  run  away." 

"But  who  can  she  have  run  away  from,  Tardif?"  I  asked. 


176  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"God  knows,"  he  answered,  "but  the  girl  has  suffered ; 
you  can  see  that  by  her  face.  Whoever  or  whatever  she 
has  run  away  from,  her  cheeks  are  white  from  it,  and  her 
heart  sorrowful.  I  know  nothing  of  her  secret ;  but  this  I 
do  know :  she  is  as  good  and  true,  and  sweet  a  little  soul  as 
my  poor  little  wife  was.  She  has  been  here  all  the  winter, 
doctor,  living  under  my  eye,  and  I've  waited  on  her  as  a 
servant,  though  a  rough  servant  I  am  for  one  like  her.  She 
has  tried  to  make  herself  cheerful  and  contented  with  our 
poor  ways.  See,  she  mended  me  that  bit  of  net ;  those  are 
her  meshes,  though  her  pretty  white  fingers  were  made 
sore  by  the  twine.  She  would  mend  it,  sitting  where  you 
are  now  in  the  chimney  corner.  No ;  if  mam'zelle  should 
die,  it  will  be  a  great  grief  of  heart  to  me.  If  I  could  offer 
my  life  to  God  in  place  of  her,  I'd  do  it  willingly." 

"No,  she  will  not  die.  Look  there,  Tardif ! '  I  said,  point- 
ing to  the  door-sill  of  the  inner  room.  A  white  card  had  been 
slipped  under  the  door  noiselessly — a  signal  agreed  upon 
between  mother  Renouf  and  me,  to  inform  me  that  my 
patient  had  at  last  fallen  into  a  profound  slumber,  which 
seemed  likely  to  continue  some  hours.  She  had  slept  per- 
haps a  few  minutes  at  a  time  before,  but  not  a  refreshing, 
wholesome  sleep.  Tardif  understood  the  silent  signal  as  well 
as  I  did,  and  a  more  solemn  expression  settled  on  his  face. 
After  awhile  he  put  away  his  pipe,  and  stepping  barefoot 
across  the  floor  without  a  sound,  he  stopped  the  clock,  and 
brought  back  to  the  table,  where  an  oil  lamp  was  burning,  a 
large  old  Bible.  Throughout  the  long  night,  whenever  I 
awoke  (for  I  threw  myself  on  the  fern  bed  and  slept  fitfully) 
1  saw  his  handsome  face,  with  its  rough,  unkempt  hair  fall- 
ing across  his  forehead  as  it  was  bent  over  the  book,  while 
his  mouth  moved  silently  as  he  read  to  himself  chapter  after 
chapter,  and  turned  softly  the  pages  before  him. 

I  fell  into  a  heavy  slumber  just  before  daybreak,  and 
when  I  awoke  two  or  three  hours  after,  I  found  that  the 
house  had  been  put  in  order,  just  as  usual,  though  no  sound 
had  disturbed  me.  I  glanced  anxiously  at  the  closed  door. 
That  it  was  closed,  and  the  white  card  still  on  the  sill,  proved 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DILEMMA  177 

to  me  that  our  charge  had  no  more  been  disturbed  than 
myself.  The  thought  struck  me  that  the  morning  light 
would  shine  full  upon  the  weak  and  weary  eyelids  of  the 
sleeper;  but  upon  going  out  into  the  fold  to  look  at  her 
casement,  I  discovered  that  Tardif  had  been  before  me  and 
covered  it  with  an  old  sail.  The  room  within  was  suffi- 
ciently darkened. 

The  morning  was  more  than  half  gone  before  mother 
Renouf  opened  the  door  and  came  out  to  us,  her  old  face 
looking  more  haggard  than  ever,  but  her  little  eyes  twinkling 
with  satisfaction.  She  gave  me  a  patronizing  nod,  but  she 
went  up  to  Tardif,  laid  a  hand  on  each  of  his  broad 
shoulders,  and  looked  him  keenly  in  the  face. 

"All  goes  well,  my  friend,"  she  said  significantly.  "Your 
little  mam'zelle  does  not  think  of  going  to  the  good  God 
yet." 

I  did  not  stay  to  watch  how  Tardif  received  this  news, 
for  I  was  impatient  myself  to  see  how  she  was  going  on. 
Thank  Heaven,  the  fever  was  gone,  the  delirium  at  an  end. 
The  dark  gray  eyes,  opening  languidly  as  my  fingers  touched 
her  wrist,  were  calm  and  intelligent.  She  was  as  weak  as  a 
kitten,  but  that  did  not  trouble  me  much.  I  was  sure  her 
natural  health  was  good,  and  she  would  soon  recover  her 
lost  strength.  I  had  to  stoop  down  to  hear  what  she  was 
saying. 

"Have  I  kept  quite  still,  doctor?"  she  asked  faintly. 

I  must  own  that  my  eyes  smarted,  and  my  voice  was  not 
to  be  trusted.  I  had  never  felt  so  overjoyed  in  my  life  as 
at  that  moment. 

But  what  a  singular  wish  to  be  obedient,  possessed  this 
girl!  What  a  wonderful  power  of  submissive  self-control! 
If  she  had  cast  aside  authority  and  broken  away  from  it, 
as  she  had  done  apparently,  there  must  have  been  some 
great  provocation  before  a  nature  like  hers  could  venture  to 
assert  its  own  independence. 

I  had  ample  time  for  turning  over  this  reflection,  for 
mother  Renouf  was  worn  out  and  needed  rest,  and  Suzanne 
Tardif  was  of  little  use  in  the  sick-room.     I  scarcely  left 


178  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

my  patient  all  that  day,  for  the  rumor  I  had  set  afloat  the 
day  before  was  sufficient  to  make  it  a  difficult  task  to  pro- 
cure another  nurse.  The  almost  childish  face  grew  visibly 
better  before  my  eyes,  and  when  night  came  I  had  to 
acknowledge  somewhat  reluctantly  that  as  soon  as  a  boat 
could  leave  the  island  it  would  be  my  bounden  duty  to  re- 
turn to  Guernsey. 

"I  should  like  to  see  Tardif,"  murmured  the  girl  to  me 
that  night,  after  she  had  awakened  from  a  second  long 
and  peaceful  sleep. 

I  called  him  and  he  came  in  barefoot,  his  broad  burly 
frame  seeming  to  fill  up  all  the  little  room.  She  could 
not  raise  her  head,  but  her  face  was  turned  toward  us,  and 
she  held  out  her  small  wasted  hand  to  him,  smiling  faintly. 
He  fell  on  his  knees  before  he  took  it  into  his  great,  horny 
palm,  and  looked  down  upon  it  as  he  held  it  very  carefully 
with   tears   standing   in   his    eyes. 

"Why,  it  is  like  an  egg-shell,"  he  said.  "God  bless  you, 
mam'zelle,  God  bless  you,  for  getting  well  again!" 

She  laughed  at  his  words — a  feeble  though  merry  laugh, 
like  a  child's — and  she  seemed  delighted  with  the  sight  of 
his  hearty  face,  glowing  as  it  was  with  happiness. 

It  was  a  strange  chance  that  had  thrown  these  two  to- 
gether. I  could  not  allow  Tardif  to  remain  long ;  but  after 
that  she  kept  devising  little  messages  to  send  to  him  through 
me,  whenever  I  was  about  to  leave  her.  Her  intercourse 
with  mother  Renouf  was  extremely  limited,  as  the  old 
woman's  knowledge  of  English  was  slight;  and  with  Su- 
zanne she  could  hold  no  conversation  at  all.  It  happened, 
in  consequence,  that  I  was  the  only  person  who  could  talk 
or  listen  to  her  through  the  long  and  dreary  hours. 

Hesba  Stretton. 


'CTOR'S 


grew  vii.. 
I   when   night  came   I  had  to 
-   'ly  that  as  soon  as  a  boat 
■e  my  bounden  duty  to  re- 
turn t 

'"         -niurea  the  girl  \o  nic 
tl,  '    from  a  second  long 

,  and  he  came  in  '  '        '  '      'v 

f  ^   to  fill  up  all  tl:  i 

.'r  head,  but  her  face  was  turned  towar 

y 
palm,  and  looked  down  upon  it  as  he  held  it  very  carefully 

w  •     ■      "       ^    ■  ■ 

lie  said.    "God  bless  you, 
rr  God  bless  you,  for  getting  well  again!" 

L;bc(]  at  bis  words — a  '    '  '      '        "■  merry  laugh, 
7V/4^£u^/V;?«:hfe^J?li«(A?7   .\hj  i  H iu<    i  the  sight  of 
face,  glowing  as  it  was  with  happiness. 

had  thrown    '  >- 

_     if  to  remain  '  r 

th  vising  little  messages  to  send  : 

us  about  to  leave  her.     II 
.  uf  was   extremely   limitc  ! 

of  English  was  slight; 
"o  conver  all.     It  i, 

vas  the  i-..._.  ,  ...-on  who  v .ilk 

the  long  and  dreary  hours. 

Hesba  Stretton. 


DR.  FALCONER'S  TEMPTATION 


T  occurred  in  the  most  romantic  way,  and  amid  the 
most  prosaic  surroundings.  There  is  probably  no 
position  in  the  world  more  fatal  to  romance,  or 
more  likely  to  crush  all  superfluous  sentiment  out 
of  a  man's  nature,  than  that  of  parish  doctor.  The  scenes 
of  squalid  misery  he  is  compelled  every  day  to  witness  are 
more  likely  to  blunt  and  exhaust  the  sense  of  pity  in  the 
average  man  than  to  develop  it  by  exercise,  especially 
when  a  little  experience  has  shown  how  closely  they  are 
associated  with  vice  and  deceit,  and  how  certain  is  the  man 
who  gives  way  to  his  first  impulsive  instinct  of  charity,  to 
awake  sooner  or  later  to  the  knowledge  that  he  has  been 
cheated  and  laughed  at  ten  times  by  specious  rogues,  for 
once  that  he  has  been  of  any  real  help  to  the  unfortunate. 
And  he  is  apt  to  become  cynical  in  consequence. 

Richard  Falconer  had  started  in  life  with  more,  rather 
than  less,  of  the  usual  romance  and  unpractical  sentiment  of 
youth.  The  last  thing  he  had  thought  of  had  been  the  hard 
realities  of  life.  And,  as  a  natural  consequence,  those 
hard  realities  were  now  asserting  themselves  and  forcing 
themselves  upon  his  attention  more  and  more  every  day, 
in  the  hard  struggle  to  establish  himself  in  practise  on 
the  slender  basis  of  a  parish  appointment  in  a  big  provincial 
town,  where  he  was  as  yet  little  known  and  had  a  host  of 
wealthier  competitors.  It  was  so  different  from  the  career 
his  glowing  anticipations  had  pictured  in  the  happy  old 
college  days !  He  had  left  the  University  with  a  good  de- 
gree, and  his  chances  of  ultimate  success  were  most  highly 
estimated  by  those  professional  friends  who  knew  him 
best ;  but  he  had  himself  almost  lost  heart.  He  looked  every 
day  with  sinking  spirits  and  lengthening  face  on  his  young 

179 


iSo  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

wife  and  son — now  a  rapidly  growing  boy  witK  a  por- 
tentous appetite,  whom  he  must  soon  begin  to  think  of 
placing  at  school — and  his  heart  sank  lower  still,  one  morn- 
ing, when  the  only  visitor  to  his  surgery  was  a  ragged 
messenger,  who  produced  from  his  pocket  a  dirty  and 
much-folded  slip  of  paper,  which,  on  being  smoothed  out, 
proved  to  be  only  the  usual  parish  order  to  visit  a  pauper 
patient  in  the  poorest  quarter  of  the  town.  It  looked  just 
like  any  other,  such  as  he  was  in  the  daily  habit  of  receiv- 
ing, and  he  glanced  at  it  almost  mechanically  as  he  an- 
swered— 

"  'Peter  Ingram,  3,  Paradise  Row — urgent.'  Very  well, 
I  shall  be  there  in  about  half  an  hour." 

It  was  not  a  promising  duty,  but  it  was  at  least  better 
than  to  sit  eating  his  own  heart  in  the  bitterness  of  en- 
forced idleness,  as  he  had  too  often  been  compelled  to  do 
of  late ;  so,  waiting  only  to  put  his  stethoscope  and  ther- 
mometer in  his  pocket,  he  seized  his  umbrella  and  started. 
The  streets  through  which  he  passed  to  his  destination,  each 
darker  and  dirtier  and  more  thickly  studded  with  public- 
houses  than  the  last,  seemed  to  his  morbid  fancy  to  symbol- 
ize his  own  position  and  prospects.  In  one  of  the  darkest 
and  dirtiest  of  all,  he  stopped  before  a  house  which,  even  in 
such  a  neighborhood,  was  conspicuous  for  its  neglected  ap- 
pearance. The  paint  had  long  ago  peeled  in  great  patches 
off  the  door,  and  more  than  half  the  panes  of  glass  were 
broken  in  the  window,  while  the  remaining  ones  were  per- 
fectly opaque  with  dust  and  cobwebs.  Nine  out  of  ten  per- 
sons would  have  passed  the  house  as  uninhabited,  but  Dr. 
Falconer  knew  better.  Finding  his  knock  unanswered  he 
tried  the  latch,  but  the  door  was  locked.  Again  he  rapped 
sharply,  this  time  with  the  handle  of  his  umbrella,  and  after 
a  second  repetition  a  key  grated  in  the  lock,  the  door  opened 
three  inches,  and  a  glittering  eye,  under  a  red  bushy  eye- 
brow, sharply  scrutinized  him  from  behind  it.  Then  it 
closed  again ;  he  heard  a  chain  unfasten,  the  door  was 
opened  just  wide  enough  to  admit  him,  and  closed,  locked, 
and  chained  behind  him  the  moment  he  entered. 


DR.  FALCONER'S   TEMPTATION  iSi 

"Are  you  afraid  of  thieves,  my  friend?"  said  the  doctor, 
glancing  round  the  four  bare  walls  as  well  as  the  light  per- 
mitted. "You  need  hardly  be  nervous  on  that  score,  I 
think." 

"No,"  said  the  man  who  had  admitted  him ;  "one  who  has 
parted  with  the  very  last  rag  and  stick  he  can  spare  has  at 
least  that  consolation.  Vacuus  cantabit,  you  know.  But  I 
have  still  a  little  pride  left,  and  don't  like  everyone  to  see  me 
in  this  plight." 

"Ah,"  said  Falconer,  catching  him  by  the  arm  to  draw 
him  near  the  light,  "you  have  come  down  in  the  world,  then. 
.Was  it  drink?    Be  frank  with  me." 

"I  don't  deny  that  drink  began  it,"  he  answered  quietly. 
"But  don't  make  a  mistake,  doctor ;  drink  isn't  the  cause  of 
my  present  illness.  I  was  once  a  University  man  myself, 
and  looking  forward  to  a  profession.  Drink  ruined  my 
prospects,  and  I  found  myself  a  private  soldier  instead. 
But  I  pulled  up.  I  haven't  tasted  drink  for  many  years.  An 
old  wound,  received  at  Abu  Klea,  and  repeated  doses  of 
malaria  have  brought  me  to  my  present  condition." 

"Am  I  to  understand,  then,"  said  the  doctor,  "that  you 
are  yourself  the  patient  I  was  sent  to  see?  .Why  are  you 
not  in  bed,  then  ?" 

"Because  there  is  no  one  to  open  the  door  but  myself.  I 
am  all  alone  in  the  house — and  in  the  world.  But  when  you 
see  my  bed,"  he  added  grimly,  "you  will  not  wonder  that  I 
like  to  keep  out  of  it  as  long  as  I  can." 

"You  ought  to  be  in  it  now,"  said  the  doctor,  and  indeed 
as  he  spoke,  the  man  began  to  shiver  and  tremble,  and  cry- 
ing with  chattering  teeth,  "Oh-h-h!  it's  on  me  again!" 
clutched  at  the  solitary  chair  that  stood  in  the  room,  and  sat 
down  in  such  a  paroxysm  of  shuddering  that  the  floor  shook 
beneath  him,  and  the  very  window  rattled  in  its  frame.  The 
doctor  hastily  produced  his  hypodermic  case,  and  looked 
around  in  vain  for  a  jug  of  water.  Opening  a  door  behind 
him,  he  stepped  into  a  room  almost  as  bare  as  the  first,  ex- 
cept that  a  heap  of  rags  lay  in  one  corner  and  a  handful  of 
fire  smouldered  in  the  rusty  grate.    A  water  jug  and  a  cup 


i82  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

and  plate  stood  upon  the  floor  close  to  the  wall,  but  on  lifting 
the  jug  he  found  it  empty.  Returning  to  his  patient,  he 
found  the  fit  had  terminated  in  violent  sickness. 

"My  poor  fellow,"  said  he  as  soon  as  this  had  subsided, 
"you  must  go  to  bed  and  have  a  nurse  to  look  after  you.  I 
shall  have  you  taken  to  the  Infirmary  at  once.  Just  lie 
down  here  for  a  few  minutes  until  I  can  procure  a  fly,  and 
I  will  have  you  there  in  a  jiffy.  I  will  take  you  myself,  so 
there  will  be  no  trouble  about  admitting  you  at  once." 

But  to  his  surprise  the  patient  clutched  him  by  the  arm 
and  shrieked  out,  "No,  doctor,  no!  anything  rather  than 
that !  I  would  sooner  die  on  the  floor !  I  won't  go,  I  tell 
you !  If  you  can't  do  me  any  good  here,  just  leave  me 
alone ;  but  go  to  Infirmary  or  Hospital  I  won't,  or  have  a 
nurse  fussing  about  me  either.  I've  fought  through  as  bad 
as  this  before  without  any  help,  and  I  will  again.  Go!"  he 
fairly  yelled  in  his  excitement;  "go  and  leave  me  to  get 
through  it  without  your  help." 

"Oho !"  muttered  the  doctor  to  himself,  "so  it  will  be  the 
Asylum  instead  of  the  Infirmary.  Don't  agitate  yourself, 
my  friend,"  he  continued  to  his  patient ;  "if  you  prefer  mis- 
ery to  comfort,  and  sickness  to  health,  that's  your  own  af- 
fair. I'm  not  going  to  force  any  kindness  on  you.  You 
shall  stay  here ;  I  can't  pass  any  harsher  sentence  on 
you  than  that.  Now  will  you  be  good  enough  to  strip  to 
the  waist,  and  let  me  overhaul  you  thoroughly.  You  haven't 
had  malaria  fever  so  long  as  you  say  without  enlarged 
spleen  or  liver,  I'll  be  bound." 

The  man  sulkily  took  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat.  "Don't 
ask  me  to  strip  any  further,  doctor.  It's  too  cold ;  and,  to 
confess  the  truth,  I  haven't  had  my  clothes  off  for  weeks, 
and  I'm  ashamed  you  should  see  them." 

"All  the  more  reason  for  taking  them  off  now,"  said  the 
doctor.  "Man,  how  can  you  endure  it?  It  is  enough  to 
breed  a  fever  in  itself!  Off  with  them !"  and  he  caught  hold 
of  him  to  help  him  remove  them.  But  the  other  wriggled 
from  his  grasp,  and  planted  himself  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 


DR.  FALCONER'S  TEMPTATION  183 

with  his  hands  clutching  his  waist  as  far  round  as  he  could 
reach. 

"Don't  be  such  a  howling  fool!"  said  the  doctor  with  as 
much  good-nature  as  he  could  command  under  the  circum- 
stances. "Listen  to  me,  my  friend.  You  have  contracted 
liver  and  enlarged  spleen  at  this  moment,  or  I'm  very  much 
mistaken.  But  you  have  worse  than  that.  I  felt  something 
when  I  caught  hold  of  you  a  moment  ago,  and  I'm  afraid 
it's  a  malignant  tumor  of  the  most  serious  kind.  As  I 
live,"  he  went  on,  stepping  close  to  him  and  passing  his  hand 
round  the  waist,  in  spite  of  efforts  to  prevent  him,  "I  can 
make  out  more  than  one  even  through  your  clothes.  Come, 
come !  Be  a  little  more  reasonable.  Let  me  get  you  to  bed 
and  examine  you  properly.  You're  not  fit  to  be  on  your 
feet  at  this  moment.  Come,  my  poor  fellow,  don't  play  the 
fool  any  longer.  If  you  do,  I  shall  have  to  conclude  you 
are  a  madman,  and  take  measures  accordingly.  Don't  force 
me  to  that." 

"Well,  doctor,  I  give  in  then.  Just  step  into  the  other 
room  while  I  undress,  please,  and  I'll  call  when  you're  to 
come  in." 

The  doctor  raised  his  eyebrows  at  this  modest  request, 
but  thought  it  best  to  humor  him,  and  went  into  the  outer 
room,  closing  the  door  behind  him.  As  he  did  so  he  heard 
the  key  turned  in  the  lock  on  the  other  side.  In  another 
minute,  however,  it  was  turned  again,  and  a  few  seconds 
later  he  heard  the  voice  of  his  patient : 

"Come  in  now,  doctor."  Entering,  he  found  him  on  a 
ragged  mattress  that  lay  on  the  floor,  covered  with  a  dirty 
blanket  and  the  coat  and  trousers  he  had  been  wearing. 
Kneeling  down  beside  him,  he  proceeded  to  examine  him  in 
rather  professional  fashion,  but  to  his  amazement  he  en- 
tirely failed  to  detect  any  signs  of  the  tumors  he  had  been 
confident  he  felt  through  his  patient's  clothes.  The  man's 
emaciation  was  extreme,  and  had  any  such  abnormal  swell- 
ing been  present,  it  could  not  have  escaped  his  observation. 
But  there  was  none,  and  Falconer  was  obliged  to  admit  to 
himself  that  his  first  diagnosis  was  incorrect.     He  could 


i84  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

find  no  trace  of  the  hard  knotty  swellings  he  had  been  so 
sure  he  felt  beneath  the  clothes.  There  was  enough,  how- 
ever, to  warrant  a  grave  view  of  the  case,  and  he  exerted 
all  his  eloquence  to  persuade  the  patient  to  consent  to  be 
taken  to  the  Infirmary,  but  without  effect. 

"Just  send  me  a  few  strong  doses  of  quinine,  doctor,  and 
order  me  some  milk  and  some  coals,  and  I  shall  be  able  to 
get  along  by  myself,  as  I  have  often  done  before  and  will 
often  do  again.  A  few  days  will  pull  me  round  all  right 
without  troubling  anyone." 

"I'm  afraid  it  may  be  a  more  serious  matter  this  time," 
said  the  doctor,  "but  have  your  own  way  for  the  present. 
I'll  see  that  you  have  some  milk,  and  if  I  have  a  spare  rug 
or  blanket  I'll  send  it  as  well  to  throw  over  you.  Now,  good- 
bye, and  see  that  you  keep  yourself  as  warm  and  comfortable 
as  you  can  under  the  difficult  circumstances  you  have  chosen 
for  yourself. 

"I  oughtn't  to  have  listened  to  him,"  he  went  on  to  him- 
self as  he  walked  home  through  the  driving  snow,  which  had 
been  falling  thickly  for  some  time ;  "but  there's  that  old 
Ulundi  rug  of  mine  he  can  have  tonight.  It  looks  as  if  he 
would  need  it  badly." 

II 

The  ensuing  night  proved  keen  and  frosty,  and  Falconer's 
thoughts  reverted  more  than  once  to  the  miserable  shelter  in 
which  he  had  left  his  patient,  and  the  still  more  miserable 
shake-down  on  which  the  fever-stricken  wretch  was  lying. 
At  a  comparatively  early  hour  the  next  morning  he  was 
again  at  the  door,  waiting  in  some  impatience  until  it  was 
again  unchained  and  unlocked,  and  revealed  the  solitary  in- 
mate shivering  and  moaning  in  agonies  of  neuralgia.  "So 
this  is  the  result  of  leaving  you  to  your  own  devices !"  he 
exclaimed  as  he  strode  in ;  "but  come,  there  is  no  time  to  be 
lost  now.  Get  on  your  clothes,  and  anything  you  want  to 
take  with  you,  and  I  will  have  a  fly  at  the  door  in  five  min- 


DR.  FALCONER'S  TEMPTATION  185 

.  utes.  But  sit  down  first  and  let  me  give  you  a  hypodermic 
dose  of  morphia  to  quiet  your  pain.  Is  there  any  water  in 
the  house?" 

"You  can  get  it  at  the  tap,  and  here  is  a  cup.  But  I  tell 
you  plainly,  I'm  not  going  out  of  this  house.  Do  anything 
you  can  for  me  without  removing  me,  and  I  will  thank  you 
and  repay  you  when  I  can.  I  do  thank  you  a  hundred  times 
for  the  rug  you  sent  me  last  night.  But  go  to  Infirmary  or 
Hospital  I  will  not ;  understand  that  clearly." 

"Well,  well  I"  said  the  doctor,  wishing  to  humor  him  for 
the  moment;  "lie  down  there  and  get  under  the  rug  then. 
Hold  out  your  arm.  There,  you'll  feel  better  in  a  minute. 
A  deal  better,"  he  muttered  to  himself  as  he  drove  home  a 
full  dose;  "it  will  be  easier  to  get  him  away  so.  Now  lie 
still,  and  keep  yourself  warm  for  half  an  hour.  I  have  an- 
other case  to  see  in  the  next  street,  and  I  will  be  back  here 
in  that  time."  So  saying,  he  walked  quickly  to  the  door^  from 
which  he  withdrew  the  key  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  It  was 
several  minutes'  walk  to  the  nearest  cab-stand,  and  nearly 
half  an  hour  had  elapsed  before  he  was  again  at  the  door 
with  a  four-wheeler.  To  his  chagrin  he  found  it  fastened 
by  the  chain ;  but  with  a  powerful  push  of  his  shoulder  he 
burst  it  open  and  entered. 

His  patient  was  lying  on  the  floor  of  the  front  room  on 
his  face,  having  apparently  succumbed  to  the  influence  of 
the  morphia  as  he  was  returning  from  putting  the  chain 
on  the  door.  "What  a  monomaniac!"  exclaimed  the  doctor 
other  case  to  see  in  the  next  street,  and  I  will  be  back  here 
those  tumors  again  ?"  In  a  moment  he  had  laid  the  insensi- 
ble figure  on  the  bed,  and  was  hastily  undoing  his  clothing. 
Under  the  man's  shirt,  and  next  his  skin,  was  fastened  a 
broad  canvas  belt,  furnished  with  six  large  leathern  pouches 
widely  distended  and  bulging  prominently.  "Ha!  this  ex- 
plains the  mystery!  .Vacuus  cantabit  indeed!  What  a 
weight!  These  are  malignant  tumors  with  a  vengeance! 
Come,  my  friend,  let  go"— this  to  the  patient,  who  was 
feebly  and  half  consciously  clutching  at  the  belt  as  he  with- 


i86  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

drew  it — "I  must  make  a  thorough  examination  of  these 
tumors,  since  I  have  discovered  them  at  last." 

Placing  the  belt  on  the  floor — for  there  was  no  table  in  the 
room — he  unloosed  the  strap  of  one  of  the  pouches  with 
fingers  that  trembled  with  excitement.  A  yellow  gleam 
caught  his  eye,  and  for  a  moment  his  hands  shook  so  vio- 
lently and  uncontrollably  that  a  small  avalanche  of  gold 
coins  rolled  out  upon  the  bare  boards  with  a  jingling  crash, 
and  spread  over  the  floor.  His  head  swam,  flashes  of  fire 
seemed  to  dance  before  his  eyes,  a  thunderous  reverberation 
filled  his  ears,  and  before  he  was  able  to  control  his  own 
movements  he  was  down  on  his  knees  wildly  clutching  at  the 
coins  with  both  hands,  thrusting  them  into  his  pockets  as 
fast  as  he  could  gather  them  up.  Recovering  himself  with 
a  sense  of  shame  and  amazement  such  as  he  had  never  felt 
before,  he  was  conscious  of  shuddering  so  violently  that  his 
teeth  chattered,  and  the  gold  dropped  again  and  again  from 
his  fingers.  "For  shame,  Richard  Falconer!"  he  heard 
himself  saying  aloud,  "is  this  your  contempt  for  filthy  lucre, 
your  boasted  indifiference  to  gold?  Get  up  at  once,  put  back 
that  money,  and  see  to  your  patient  as  you  ought !  What  is 
all  this  to  you?" 

With  a  great  effort  he  pulled  himself  together,  and  began 
methodically  to  gather  up  the  coins  and  put  them  back  into 
the  pouch,  yiost  of  them  were  English  sovereigns,  but 
some  were  Eastern  coins,  at  whose  value  he  could  only 
guess.  He  estimated,  however,  that  the  contents  of  the 
first  bag  must  be  worth  at  least  two  hundred  pounds ;  a  sec- 
ond and  a  third  were  opened  with  a  similar  result;  but  the 
last  three  contained  not  coins  but  jewels,  mostly  unset  and 
many  uncut ;  rubies,  emeralds,  and  diamonds,  some  of  them 
of  great  size  and  evidently  of  enormous  value.  He  was 
still  engaged  in  counting  these  last,  oblivious  of  the  lapse 
of  time,  when  he  was  startled  by  hearing  the  outer  door  open 
and  footsteps  cross  the  floor  towards  the  door  of  the  inner 
room.  Almost  before  he  was  conscious  of  moving  he 
found  himself  at  the  door  and  in  the  act  of  turning  the  key 
in  the  lock.     "Good  Heavens!"  he  muttered,  "I  must  be 


DR.  FALCONER'S  TEMPTATION  187 

under  the  spell  of  the  gold-fiend  myself.  This  will  never 
do!"  Nevertheless  he  opened  the  door  only  wide  enough 
to  let  himself  through,  and  at  once  closed  and  locked  it  be- 
hind him.  Then  he  found  himself  face  to  face  with  the 
driver  of  the  cab  which  he  had  left  at  the  door. 

"Beg  your  pardon,  sir!"  said  the  man,  touching  his  hat; 
"I  thought  you  had  forgot  me.  Is  there  anything  you  want 
carried  out  to  the  cab?" 

"I'm  afraid  I  did  forget  you,"  said  the  doctor.  "The  fact 
is,  I  have  seen  reason  to  change  my  mind  about  removing 
the  patient.  You  need  not  wait  any  longer.  Here  is  a  shill- 
ing for  the  time  you  have  lost." 

"Not  quite  a  case  for  the  Union  Infirmary,"  he  said  to 
himself  after  the  cab  had  departed.  "I  must  get  a  nurse  for 
him  and  order  some  proper  food.  He  will  be  able  to  pay  for 
them,"  he  added  with  a  laugh.  "And  now  I  think  of  it,  I 
had  better  take  charge  of  his  money  myself." 

So  saying,  he  returned  the  jewels  to  their  respective 
pouches,  fastened  them  securely,  and  again  locking  the 
door,  took  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat  and  buckled  the  heavy 
belt  around  his  own  waist.  Its  weight  surprised  him,  and 
when  he  had  adjusted  it  in  its  place  and  rearranged  his 
clothes  over  it,  he  was  astonished  to  find  how  easily  it  fitted 
and  how  little  external  evidence  there  was  of  its  presence. 
Then  he  kneeled  down  beside  his  patient  and  examined  him 
minutely.  The  man  lay  in  a  death-like  stupor,  with  eyes  half 
open,  and  the  doctor,  raising  the  lids  successively  with  his 
thumb,  noted  with  keen  professional  glance  that  the  pupils 
were  contracted  to  less  than  half  their  natural  size.  "Good 
Heavens !"  was  his  first  thought ;  "can  I  have  given  him  an 
overdose  ?" 

The  next  ten  minutes  were  spent  in  efforts  to  awaken  and 
arouse  the  sleeping  man.  He  shouted  in  his  ears,  dipped 
the  corner  of  his  handkerchief  in  water  and  slapped  his  face, 
raised  him  to  his  feet  only  to  find  his  legs  collapse  helplessly 
under  him.  Then  he  put  his  hand  to  the  hip-pocket,  in 
which  he  carried  his  hypodermic  case.  The  bulky  pouches 
of  the  belt  delayed  him  for  a  moment,  but  it  was  enough  to 


t88  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

change  the  current  of  his  thoughts.  The  thought  of  the 
wealth  now  within  his  grasp  rushed  over  him  Hke  an  irre- 
sistible flood,  sweeping  everything  before  it.  "Don't  be  a 
Quixotic  fool,  Richard  Falconer!  You  have  done  all  you 
can  for  him ;  let  him  go  now,  and  take  the  gold  that  has 
fallen  into  your  hands.  Here  is  what  will  pay  all  your 
debts,  solve  all  your  difficulties,  launch  you  on  a  new,  and 
full  career,  brighten  your  wife's  lot,  and  give  your  boy  a 
proper  chance  in  the  world.  Think  how  much  more  good  it 
will  do  in  your  hands  than  in  those  of  this  useless  miser. 
Now  you  will  have  some  chance  of  pursuing  your  scientific 
studies  to  advantage,  and  doing  some  service  to  humanity 
in  your  day.  Just  leave  the  case  to  nature.  Go  back  to 
your  house,  make  your  evening  visit  in  due  course,  find  him 
dead,  and  certify  the  real  cause — malarial  fever.  And  if 
there  be  an  inquest,  there  are  the  contracted  liver  and  en- 
larged spleen  ready  to  your  hand  as  a  sufficient  explanation, 
and,  what  is  better,  a  perfectly  true  one." 

He  strode  up  and  down  the  room  in  a  fever  of  excitement, 
his  lips  muttering,  his  head  whirling.  How  it  ended  he 
could  never  clearly  recollect ;  he  had  a  confused  remem- 
brance of  rushing  from  the  house,  of  passing  through  the 
streets,  even  of  stopping  to  speak  with  some  acquaintances. 
He  found  afterwards  that  he  had  made  more  than  one  parish 
visit,  through  which  habit  and  the  automatic  force  of  per- 
fect training  had  carried  him  without  any  blunder.  After  a 
time  he  seemed  to  himself  to  awake  as  if  from  a  dream. 
His  wife's  voice,  sounding  at  first  as  if  calling  from  a  great 
distance,  recalled  him  to  himself. 

"Richard,  Richard,  what  is  the  matter?  What  has  hap- 
pened to  you?"  He  was  seated  in  his  own  chair  in  his  con- 
sulting-room, his  wife  kneeling  on  the  floor  holding  his 
hands.  "Oh,  you  are  ill ;  you  ate  nothing  at  breakfast  this 
morning — I  saw  you,  though  you  thought  I  didn't  notice.  Oh, 
Richard,  you  mustn't  go  on  like  that ;  if  you  were  to  break 
down  what  would  become  of  us?  Sit  still  now,  till  I  see 
if  there  be  any  wine  left  in  the  decanter ;  and  then  you  must 
have  something  to  eat." 


DR.  FALCONER'S  TEMPTATION  189 

"Stop,  Mary,"  said  he,  as  she  rose  to  leave  the  room,  "I 
am  better  now.  It  must  have  been  one  of  my  old  megrims, 
for  I  have  no  recollection  of  coming  in.  The  fact  is,  I  have 
only  returned  from  seeing  a  rather  curious  case,  and  the 
poor  fellow  appeared  to  be  in  desperate  misery  and  want. 
He  is  in  an  empty  house  by  himself,  has  neither  chair  nor 
bed,  nor  apparently  a  scrap  of  food  to  eat.  And  I  can't 
induce  him  to  go  to  the  Infirmary.  He  is  a  discharged 
soldier,  and  appears  to  have  been  a  gentleman  once,  and  he 
seems  to  be  as  proud  as  Lucifer." 

"A  soldier  I"  cried  Mary.  "Oh,  Richard,  you  must  try  if 
we  can't  do  something  for  him.  I  never  hear  of  an  old  sol- 
dier without  thinking  of  my  poor  brother  Jack,  who,  you 
know,  ran  away  and  enlisted  while  I  was  quite  a  little  girl, 
and  how  miserably  he  died  in  Africa.  Oh,  what  a  pet  I 
used  to  be  of  poor  Jack's !  If  we  had  heard  of  anyone  who 
had  been  good  to  him  at  the  last,  how  we  should  have 
blessed  him  I  Do  tell  me  all  about  this  poor  fellow,  and  let 
us  see  if  we  can  devise  any  way  of  helping  him." 

"I  am  afraid  he  is  pretty  well  past  help,"  said  Richard. 
"I  left  him  unconscious,  and  I  should  not  be  in  the  least  sur- 
prised if  he  should  never  come  to  himself  again." 

"But  surely  he  can't  be  left  by  himself  in  an  empty  house, 
Richard!  It  would  be  a  sin  and  a  shame  to  leave  anybody 
so.    He  must  be  got  to  the  Infirmary." 

"He  won't  go.  I  have  tried  my  best  to  make  him,  but  he 
is  obstinate." 

"Then  we  must  bring  him  here.  We  have  more  than  one 
empty  room,  for  the  house  is  far  too  big  for  us.  Do  let  me 
get  a  bed  put  up  in  one  of  them." 

"Why,  Mary,  you  know  well  enough  we  can't  even  keep 
ourselves!  How  are  we  to  keep  and  feed  a  stranger  as 
well?" 

"Oh,  we  must,  Richard!"  she  cried  impulsively,  her  ten- 
der eyes  filling  with  tears.  "Think  how  forsaken  and 
wretched  he  is!  Suppose  it  were  your  brother — and  he  is 
your  brother,  even  if  he  be  what  you  call  a  stranger.  We 
mustn't  shut  our  door  on  him — 'I  was  a  stranger,  and  ye 


igo  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

took  me  not  in' — how  could  you  bear  to  hear  that  said?" 

She  ran  lightly  out  of  the  room  to  give  her  orders  and 
see  them  carried  out,  leaving  Richard  sitting  conscience- 
stricken  in  his  chair,  all  his  subtle  arguments  scattered  to 
the  winds  by  a  single  word. 

"Took  him  not  in!"  he  echoed  with  a  bitter  laugh.  "No, 
Lord,  I  didn't  take  him  in !  I  knew  a  trick  worth  two  of 
that ;  so  I  robbed  and  murdered  him  instead,  and  then  swore 
lies  about  it  at  the  inquest.  And  the  best  of  it  was  I  did  all 
from  the  most  exalted  motives — to  promote  the  greatest  hap- 
piness of  the  greater  number,  at  no  expense  except  that  of 
the  life  of  a  wretched  miser  of  whom  the  world  would  be 
well  rid,  who  was  only  a  burden  to  himself  and  a  nuisance 
to  everybody  else !  How  clear  it  all  was !  but  I  dare  not 
say  it  to  Mary,  and  should  hate  her  if  she  could  listen  to  it 
for  a  second." 

He  lay  back  in  his  chair  for  a  moment  with  closed  eyes, 
a  thousand  old-world  dreams  and  half-forgotten  ideals  and 
aspirations  crowding  back  upon  his  memory  and  circulating 
round  the  image  of  his  wife,  as  he  had  first  seen  and  loved 
her.  There  were  unaccustomed  tears  in  his  eyes  as  he 
opened  them  to  see  her  standing  before  him  in  hat  and 
cloak. 

"Come,  Richard,"  she  cried,  "you  must  take  me  to  the 
place  at  once.  There  was  some  wine  left  and  I  have  it  in 
this  blanket.  I  have  told  Alice  to  make  up  a  bed  in  the 
back-room,  and  to  have  some  hot  soup  ready  in  an  hour. 
Now  get  your  coat  on  and  take  me  to  the  house.  We  shall 
need  a  fly  to  bring  him  here ;  but  we  can  order  that  on  the 
way." 

Her  bright,  quick  eagerness  carried  him  along ;  in  another 
minute  they  were  passing  through  the  streets,  and  had 
hailed  a  crawling  cab.  Richard  regarded  his  wife  with  a 
kind  of  dazed  surprise.  All  the  wan  depression  of  her  face, 
which  had  weighed  his  spirits  for  weeks,  was  gone,  and  a 
bright  and  almost  joyous  energy  seemed  to  possess  her  that 
reminded  him  of  the  Mary  of  brighter  days.  He  seemed 
awakened  from  a  nightmare  as  he  looked  at  her,  and  sprang 


DR.  FALCONER'S  TEMPTATION  191 

lightly  down  to  help  her  as  the  fly  drew  up  in  the  wretched 

street  before  the  empty  house. 

Ill 

Already  the  early  evening  was  closing  in,  and  it  looked 
doubly  desolate  and  forbidding  in  the  twilight.  "Why, 
surely  there  is  no  one  living  here !"  she  exclaimed ;  "he  must 
indeed  be  in  a  wretched  plight,  poor  fellow !"  Richard  tried 
the  door,  but  found  it  locked.  He  had  no  recollection  of  his 
departure  from  the  house  in  the  morning,  but  on  putting  his 
hand  in  his  pocket  he  found  the  key,  which  he  must  have 
slipped  into  it  on  leaving.  They  entered  the  bare  outer  room, 
and  he  could  hardly  hear  his  wife's  exclamation  of  pity  and 
dismay,  his  own  heart  was  thumping  so  loudly  with  terror 
and  suspense.  Should  they  find  him  still  alive?  His  hand 
shook  as  he  laid  it  on  the  handle  of  the  inner  door,  the  lock 
rattled,  and  for  a  moment  he  recoiled  as  from  a  living  thing. 
Nerving  himself  with  an  effort,  he  pushed  the  door  open  and 
went  in.  The  room  was  precisely  as  he  had  left  it  in  the 
morning ;  the  patient  lay  in  a  profound  sleep,  breathing  heav- 
ily, and  bathed  in  a  profuse  perspiration.  Richard  bent  over 
him  and  felt  his  pulse,  then  shook  him  sharply  by  the 
shoulder  and  called  loudly  on  him  to  awake,  but  without 
rousing  him  in  the  least.  Slapping  his  face  with  a  wet  hand- 
kerchief, raising  him  off  the  ground,  produced  no  better 
effect.  Taking  the  little  bottle  of  wine  from  Mary's  ready 
hand,  Richard  forced  a  few  drops  into  his  mouth.  They 
were  swallowed  with  a  convulsive  gulp,  but  made  no  change 
in  the  profound  unconsciousness  in  which  the  patient  lay. 

"It's  no  use,"  he  said  at  last.  "He's  too  far  gone  to  awake. 
And  yet  his  pulse  is  very  good ;  and  if  I  had  him  at  home 
there  are  one  or  two  other  things  I  might  try.  So  just  tell 
the  driver  to  come  in  and  help  me  to  carry  him  to  the  fly." 

He  wrapped  around  him  the  rug  he  had  sent  the  evening 
before,  which  was  the  only  thing  about  him  not  in  rags,  and 
with  the  driver's  assistance  carried  him  out  and  propped  him 
up  in  the  fly.  Before  quitting  the  place  Richard  turned  the 
bed  over  with  his  foot,  to  be  sure  that  nothing  of  value  was 


192  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

left  behind.  'A  heavy  revolver,  which  proved  to  be  loaded, 
rattled  upon  the  floor,  and  as  he  stooped  to  pick  it  up  a  yellow 
gleam  caught  his  eye  among  the  rags.  "What !  more  money !" 
he  exclaimed ;  but  on  looking  closer  he  saw  it  was  only  the 
gilt  case  of  an  old-fashioned,  faded  daguerreotype  portrait. 
Nothing  else  was  to  be  found,  and  slipping  it  into  his  pocket 
with  the  revolver,  he  returned  to  the  cab,  locking  the  door 
behind  him  as  he  left. 

A  few  minutes'  driving  brought  the  party  back  to  Rich- 
ard's house,  and  with  the  assistance  of  the  cabman,  the  still 
unconscious  patient  was  carried  up  to  one  of  the  empty 
rooms,  where  a  bed  had  been  prepared  to  receive  him.  Mary 
was  ready  with  hot  soup  and  coffee,  and  felt  a  little  disap- 
pointed when  Richard  turned  her  from  the  door.  "No,  no, 
Mary,  it's  no  use  trying  to  give  it  to  him  that  way.  Make 
a  little  very  strong  beef-tea ;  I  will  find  a  way  to  administer 
that.  Send  me  up  the  bottle  of  Condy's  fluid,  and  a  glass 
and  jug  of  water." 

Left  to  himself,  he  proceeded  with  a  fierce  anxiety,  very 
different  from  his  usual  professional  coolness,  to  take  such 
measures  as  his  knowledge  dictated  to  awaken  his  patient 
from  his  stupor,  and  these  not  proving  immediately  suc- 
cessful, to  sustain  life,  if  possible,  until  the  effect  of  the  drug 
should  pass  off.  It  was  late  when,  after  having  exhausted 
nearly  every  means  known  to  him,  he  left  him  still  lying 
unconscious  and  went  down-stairs.  Mary  had  prepared  a 
little  supper  for  him,  and  was  anxiously  awaiting  his  appear- 
ance. 

"A  good  strong  cup  of  tea  for  me,  Mary." 

"Why,  Richard,  you  know  tea  at  night  always  keeps  you 
awake.    You  would  not  sleep  a  wink  after  it." 

"That's  why  I  want  it.  I  am  going  to  sit  up  with  my 
patient  tonight,  and  before  Alice  goes  to  bed  you  had  better 
tell  her  to  light  a  fire  in  his  room." 

"Oh,  Richard,  mayn't  I  sit  up  along  with  you  ?  I  am  sure 
I  shall  not  close  my  eyes  the  whole  time  for  thinking  of  you. 
I  never  can  sleep  when  you  are  away  from  me  at  night." 

"All  the  more  reason  for  you  to  be  resting  quietly  in  bed, 


DR.  FALCONER'S  TEMPTATION  I93 

then,"  said  Richard,  who  had  his  own  reasons  for  wishing  to 
be  alone  with  his  natient  in  the  event  of  his  recovering 
consciousness. 

When  the  household  had  retired,  Richard  sat  down  in  an 
easy  chair  beside  the  fire,  having  first  made  a  careful  exam- 
ination of  his  patient,  who  moaned  and  muttered  in  his  sleep 
as  he  turned  him  over  to  sound  his  heart.  Somewhat  reas- 
sured by  these  signs  of  reviving  consciousness,  he  opened  the 
latest  work  on  "Poisons,"  on  which  he  had  recently  expended 
a  guinea  which  he  could  very  ill  spare,  turned  to  the  sec- 
tion on  "Morphia,"  and  settled  himself  in  his  chair  to  study 
it  attentively. 

About  four  hours  later  ne  was  awakened  from  a  deep  sleep 
by  a  loud  cry  uttered  near  him.  The  book  had  fallen  on  the 
floor  beside  his  chair  ;  the  fire  had  gone  out,  but  the  lamp  was 
burning  brightly.  Tlie  sick  man  was  sitting  up  in  his  bed, 
from  which  he  had  thrown  ofif  the  covering,  and  was  wildly 
groping  among  the  bedclothes  in  search  of  something. 
"Lost,  lost !"  he  shrieked.    "Help !  Thieves !  Police  1" 

Richard  was  by  his  side  in  a  moment,  and  caught  him  by 
the  shoulder. 

"Thank  God,  you  are  better!"  he  exclaimed.  "But  what 
are  you  looking  for?" 

"What,  doctor,  is  it  you  ?  Where  am  I  ?  What  has  been 
the  matter  with  me?  I  feel  as  if  I  had  slept  for  a  hundred 
years !" 

"You  are  in  my  house,"  said  Richard,  "and  everything  you 
have  is  safe.  Now  pull  yourself  together,  and  let  me  have 
a  look  at  you.  Pupils  normal,  heart  all  right.  Why,  you  are 
a  miracle  I  Just  swallow  this  cup  of  coffee  ;  it's  cold,  but  your 
throat  must  be  like  a  chimney.    Down  with  it !" 

"More,  More!  I  could  drink  up  Esil!"  he  cried,  holding 
out  the  empty  cup  to  be  refilled. 

"You  must  be  a  magician,  doctor,  to  have  brought  me 
round  so  quickly.  I'm  accustomed  to  these  attacks,  as  I 
told  you,  and  the  worst  is  always  over  in  three  days.  But 
there  is  always  sickness  and  prostration  afterwards ;  and 
this  time  I  positively  feel  better  than  I  have  done  for  years. 


194  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

I  have  had  such  a  sound  sleep  as  I  thought  I  should  never 
enjoy  again.    How  did  you  do  it,  doctor?" 

"Morphia !"  said  Richard  grimly.  A  herioc  dose.  I  saw 
you  were  pretty  bad,  and  it  had  to  be  either  kill  or  cure. 
Till  within  five  minutes  ago,  I  was  greatly  afraid  it  was 
going  to  be  kill.    You  have  slept  about  twenty  hours." 

"I  can  never  thank  you  enough  for  your  courage,  then, 
for  it  has  put  new  life  in  me.  I  must  have  been  as  sound  as 
a  church  if  you  have  removed  me  without  my  knowing 
anything  about  it.  But  are  you  quite  sure  you  left  nothing 
behind,  for  I  missed  something  just  now  that  must  not  be 
lost  on  any  account?" 

"I  know,"  said  Richard  quietly,  but  keenly  watching  the 
other's  face  as  he  spoke.  "You  had  a  belt  around  you  with 
several  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  money  and  jewels  in  it. 
You  had  also  a  loaded  revolver,  for  the  purpose,  I  presume, 
of  defending  your  wealth.  Don't  be  uneasy  about  them ;  I 
have  them  both  safely  under  lock  and  key." 

"No,  no ;  you  are  quite  mistaken,  doctor,"  exclaimed  the 
man,  all  his  wildness  of  aspect  returning  and  his  eyes  gleam- 
ing with  a  mad  terror  and  suspicion.  "There's  nothing  in 
it — nothing  at  all,  except  what  little  money  I  have,  and  a  few 
curios  I  picked  up  in  my  travels.  Let  me  have  it  at  once, 
please — at  once,  without  a  single  minute's  delay !" 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  Richard.  "It  is  quite  safe,  I 
assure  you.  If  it  be  of  so  little  value  as  you  say,  why  excite 
yourself  about  it?  How  much  might  there  be  in  it  then?  It 
seemed  to  me  pretty  heavy." 

"Oh,  very  little ;  but  as  it  is  all  I  have  in  the  world,  you 
needn't  wonder  that  I  am  rather  anxious  about  it.  I  must 
ask  you  to  give  it  to  me  at  once ;  it  will  make  my  mind 
easier." 

"Don't  be  uneasy ;  I  give  you  my  word  it  is  quite  safe. 
Look  here,  I'm  rather  a  fancier  of  curios  myself;  I  don't 
mind  giving  you  ten  pounds  on  spec  for  the  belt  just  as  it 
stands.  If  you  tell  me  it  is  worth  more,  I  will  give  you 
more." 

"I  wouldn't  take  ten  pounds ;  not  that  it  is  really  worth 


DR.  FALCONER'S  TEMPTATION  195 

more,  but  there  are  things  in  it  that  have  a  special  value  for 
me.  I  shouldn't  think  of  selling  it  on  any  terms,  and  I 
must  again  ask  you  to  let  me  have  it  in  my  own  possession." 

"I  will  give  you  a  hundred,"  said  Richard  mischievously, 
"and  I  will  let  you  retain  anything  in  it  that  you  wish  espe- 
cially to  keep." 

"I  tell  you  I  am  not  going  to  sell  it  on  any  terms  what- 
ever," rejoined  the  other  testily,  "so  we  had  better  drop  the 
subject.  And  I  beg  you  will  give  it  to  me  now  without  any 
further  parley." 

"Yet  I  should  think  a  hundred  pounds  would  be  something 
of  a  consideration  to  a  man  who  had  'parted  with  the  very 
last  rag  and  stick  he  had  to  spare,' "  said  Richard.  "Come, 
my  friend,  you  may  not  meet  such  a  chance  again ;  what  do 
you  say  to  five  hundred  pounds  ?" 

"Dr.  Falconer,"  replied  the  man  excitedly,"  either  this  is 
a  very  bad  joke  or  you  have  lost  your  senses.  For  the  last 
time  I  ask  you  to  restore  my  property.  If  you  do  not,  I  will 
at  once  walk  out  of  your  house,  and  put  the  matter  in  the 
hands  of  the  police.  Give  me  what  belongs  to  me,  and  let 
me  go." 

"Very  well,"  said  Richard,  "you  shall  have  it  at  once."  He 
left  the  room  and  returned  in  a  minute  with  the  belt  and 
pistol  in  his  hands.  He  found  his  patient  already  half 
dressed.  With  frenzied  haste  he  made  a  grasp  at  the  belt, 
but  Richard  caught  him  by  the  wrist,  and  held  him  as  if  in 
a  vise,  while  he  said  sternly: 

"Listen  to  me,  madman !  You  act  as  if  you  think  I  want  to 
rob  you.  Why,  you  idiot,  if  that  had  been  my  design,  I  need 
not  have  so  much  as  lifted  my  finger ;  I  had  nothing  to 
do  but  to  sit  still,  and  you  would  have  been  dead  by  this 
time,  and  nobody  to  ask  a  single  question  about  you.  In- 
stead of  that,  I  brought  you  to  my  house,  I  have  worked 
for  hours  to  bring  you  round;  I  have  restored  you  to  life, 
and  you  repay  me  with  insults  and  abuse.  Even  yet,  if  I 
wanted  to  possess  myself  of  this  precious  belt,  I  should  have 
only  to  go  to  the  nearest  magistrate  and  certify  you  insane, 
to  have  you  shut  up  in  a  lunatic  asylum  for  the  rest  of  your 


ig6  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

days.  Much  attention  they  would  pay  there  to  your  rav- 
ings about  being  robbed  of  gold  and  jewels !  That  is  what 
I  could  do  if  I  were  the  villain  you  think  me.  Take  your 
belt  and  be  ashamed  of  yourself,  you  ungrateful  wretch!" 
and  he  flung  it  with  a  crash  upon  the  floor. 

One  of  the  pouches  burst  open  and  the  guineas  rolled  out 
in  a  golden  stream.  With  a  shriek  the  owner  flung  himself 
upon  his  knees  to  clutch  them,  when  his  new-found  strength 
failed  him  all  at  once  and  he  rolled  upon  his  face  in  a  dead 
faint. 

IV 

Richard  knelt  down,  turned  him  over  upon  his  back,  and 
sprinkled  a  few  drops  from  the  water- jug  upon  his  face. 
As'  he  did  so  he  was  startled  to  hear  a  knock  at  the  door  of 
the  room.  Going  hastily  to  open  it,  he  found  Mary,  in  a 
dressing-gown,  a  taper  in  her  hand,  her  eyes  wide  with 
anxious  suspense. 

"Oh,  Richard !  I  haven't  been  able  to  sleep  all  night,"  she 
cried,  "and  just  now  I  heard  loud  voices  and  a  scream. 
What  has  happened.    Is  anything  wrong?" 

"Don't  be  frightened,  darling,"  said  Richard.  "You  have 
come  in  time  to  help  me  in  restoring  this  man,  who  has 
fainted.    Is  there  any  brandy  in  the  cellarette?" 

"Yes,  just  a  little.    Shall  I  go  and  fetch  it?" 

"Please  do  so." 

She  turned  to  go  downstairs,  and  Richard  closed  the  door 
and  made  haste  to  pick  up  the  coins  which  were  scattered 
over  the  floor.  "Best  she  should  not  see  them,"  he  said  to 
himself  as  he  returned  them  to  the  pouch  and  fastened  the 
belt  securely  round  the  patient's  waist.  "Come  in,  Mary," 
in  answer  to  another  knock.  "Ah,  you  have  the  brandy. 
Stop  I  not  that  way,"  as  she  was  putting  a  wine-glass  to  his 
lips ;  "he  won't  be  able  to  swallow.  Just  hand  me  my  hypo- 
dermic case ;  you'll  find  it  in  my  coat-pocket,  hanging  at  the 
back  of  the  door." 

With  practised  quickness  he  prepared  the  syringe  and  in- 
jected a  few  drops  into  his  patient's  arm.    To  his  surprise 


DR.  FALCONER'S  TEMPTATION  197 

Mary  was  not  at  his  side  to  help  him ;  and  when  he  turned 
to  look  for  her  she  was  standing  near  the  lamp,  gazing  with 
fixed  eyes  and  parted  lips  upon  something  which  she  held 
close  to  the  light. 

"Richard,  Richard,  look  here !"  she  exclaimed  excitedly. 

Richard  looked.  It  was  the  little  daguerreotype  he  had 
picked  up  in  the  man's  room  and  slipped  into  his  pocket 
almost  without  looking  at  it. 

"Oh,  that's  only  a  likeness  of  somebody  that  I  found  in 
his  room  as  we  were  leaving,  and  thought  I  had  better  take 
it  with  me.  Put  it  on  the  mantelpiece ;  he  may  want  to  have 
it  again." 

"But,  Richard,  do  you  mean  to  say  you  don't  recognize 
it?  Why,  good  heavens!  don't  you  see  it  is  a  likeness  of 
mother?" 

"Of  your  mother?"  he  exclaimed,  snatching  it  from  her 
hand.  He  held  it  close  to  the  lamp,  and  had  to  turn  it  at 
several  different  angles  before  he  could  catch  the  faded 
tints  in  the  shining  silver  plate  from  which  they  seemed 
nearly  obliterated ;  but  when  he  did  so  he  could  not  repress 
a  loud  exclamation  of  astonishment. 

"It  is  she,  sure  enough !  No  one  could  ever  forget  those 
long  curls!  And  I've  seen  her  in  just  such  a  bonnet — all 
round  her  face,  I'm  sure,  a  hundred  times !  How  extraor- 
dinary !    How  on  earth  can  he  have  come  to  have  it  ?" 

"Why,  Richard,  how  can  you  be  so  stupid?  don't  you  see 
it's  Jack!  our  lost  Jack,  whom  we  have  believed  dead  for 
so  many  years !  Oh,  Jack,  Jack,  is  this  the  way  we  find  you 
again  ?  Poor,  poor  fellow !  What  miseries  you  must  have 
passed  through !  But  we  will  try  and  make  it  better  for  you 
now.  Open  your  eyes,  dear  Jack !  it  is  I,  your  little  Molly, 
and  we  shall  be  so  happy  together  again.  Oh,  Richard,  make 
him  come  to ;  do  your  best  now  if  you  never  did  before." 

She  was  down  on  her  knees  beside  him,  trying  to  raise  his 
head  on  her  breast,  chafing  his  hands,  and  covering  his  un- 
conscious face  with  kisses. 

"Softly,  Mary,  softly,"  said  Richard,  gently  restraining 
her.     "Let  his  head  rest  on  the  floor ;  he  will  come  round 


igS  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

far  quicker  so.  It  is  only  an  ordinary  faint ;  what  he  wants 
is  plenty  of  air,  and  you  are  only  smothering  him.  I  will 
throw  up  the  window — why,  it's  broad  daylight  already! 
But  are  you  quite  sure  it  is  your  brother?  Why,  it  must  be 
fifteen  years  since  you  saw  him,  and  you  were  only  a  little 
girl  then." 

"That's  just  why  I  didn't  know  him  at  first;  but  now  I 
can  see  his  likeness  to  my  father  very  plainly.  Oh,  it  is  he, 
sure  enough ;  there  can  be  no  mistake." 

"See,  the  air  is  reviving  him  already,"  said  Richard. 
"Now,  Mary,  control  yourself ;  don't  speak  to  him  till  I  tell 
you  ;  I  have  something  to  say  to  him  first.  Put  out  the  lamp, 
and  sit  down  in  that  chair,  away  from  the  window.  Come, 
now,"  turning  to  the  patient,  who  had  just  opened  his  eyes 
with  two  or  three  deep  sighs.  "Sit  up.  Sergeant  Went- 
worth !" 

"Yes,  Colonel!"  replied  the  sergeant,  raising  himself  me- 
chanicall)-,  and  lifting  his  hand  in  a  military  salute.  Sud- 
denly his  dazed  eyes  cleared,  and  he  looked  around  with 
keen,  suspicious  glance.  "Why,  it's  the  doctor !  How  do 
you  know  my — I  mean,"  he  stammered,  suddenly  conscious 
of  having  committed  himself,  "my  name's  Ingram,  not  Went- 
worth." 

"Come,  come,  Jack  Wentworth,  don't  turn  away  your  best 
friends.  I  know  all  about  you,  and  here  is  your  little  sister 
Molly,  just  waiting  to  spring  into  your  arms.  Don't  tell 
her  you  don't  remember  her ;  she  has  been  talking  about  you 
ever  since  we  were  married,  and  even  after  she  had  a  boy 
of  her  own,  whom  she  would  insist  on  naming  after  you." 

"Oh  Jack,  Jack ;"  cried  Mary,  running  into  his  embrace ; 
how  do  you  think  I  could  ever  forget  you?  Don't  tell  me 
you  have  forgotten  me!  Oh,  Jack,  what  dreadful  times 
you  must  have  had.  But  we'll  make  you  forget  all  your 
sorrows  now." 

"Molly,  Molly,  is  it  really  you?"  cried  the  hardened  sol- 
dier, actually  bursting  into  tears.  "Forget  you,  my  little  pet? 
Why,  you  were  the  one  memory  that  kept  me  from  blowing 
out  my  brains  a  dozen  times !    And  the  one  thing  that  made 


DR.  FALCONER'S  TEMPTATION  igg 

me  save  my  plunder  and  scrape  and  starve  in  the  midst  of 
plenty— for  I  am  rich,  Molly,  though  I  don't  look  it — was  the 
hope  of  being  able  to  find  you  one  day  and  share  my  win- 
nings with  you.  When  I  made  my  way  home  to  the  old 
place  at  Yorkshire,  and  found  all  the  family  were  gone,  and 
the  only  thing  I  could  hear  of  you  was  that  you  had  mar- 
ried a  doctor  and  were  living  no  one  could  tell  me  where,  I 
just  started  off  in  search  of  you,  and  for  three  weary  years 
I  have  tramped  nearly  every  road  in  England,  looking  for 
you.  It's  not  likely  I  am  going  to  say  now  I  don't  remember 
you,  my  little  Molly." 

He  turned  to  Richard  with  outstretched  hand.  "I  hope 
you'll  forgive  me  for  what  I  said  just  now.  You  had  treated 
me  with  the  greatest  kindness  I  ever  received  from  anyone, 
and  I  repaid  you  with  insult.  But  I  was  really  not  sane, 
where  that  belt  was  concerned.  You  were  quite  right  about 
it.  I  got  the  jewels  in  Burmah ;  Lord,  what  a  do  it  was !  I 
will  tell  you  the  story  one  of  these  days.  I  don't  know  yet 
myself  what  they  are  worth,  but  it  is  something  fabulous. 
The  possession  of  them  made  a  regular  miser  of  me,  but  I 
was  thinking  of  lilolly  all  the  time.  Now  I  have  found  her, 
and  the  half  of  them  are  hers ;  and  as  for  the  rest,  why  if 
you  can  put  up  with  the  humors  of  a  crotchety,  testy  old 
brother-in-law,  I  think  I'll  end  my  wanderings  here,  and 
play  the  rich  bachelor  uncle  with  my  nephews  and  nieces — 
and  a  lot  more  of  them  there  will  be,  I  hope ;  eh,  Alolly  ?" 

"Why,  Jack,"  cried  Mary,  quite  unable  to  understand,  how 
on  earth  can  you  play  the  rich  uncle  ?  And  what  is  this  belt 
you  are  talking  about?" 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Jack,  suddenly  slipping  it  off  his  own 
waist  and  buckling  it  around  hers.  "Feel  the  weight  of 
that!  You  just  keep  it  for  me,  and  whenever  I  want  any- 
thing out  of  it,  I  will  come  and  ask  for  it." 

Tom  Greer. 


DR.  BRANDT'S  WIFE 


WHEN  Dr.  Brandt's  wife  Leila  died,  none  of  his 
friends  had  any  doubt  as  to  what  would  be  his  fu- 
ture domestic  state.  He  had  loved  his  wife  too 
passionately,  too  deeply,  too  wholly,  to  allow  the 
possibility  of  her  passing  from  his  heart  or  thoughts  because 
she  had  passed  from  his  presence.  He  was  a  man  of  natural 
refinement,  and  possessed  unusual  intellectual  powers.  His 
devotion  to  his  profession  was  only  exceeded  by  his  devotion 
to  his  wife.  Notwithstanding  this,  he  was  often  found  in 
society  and  had  an  extensive  acquaintance,  professional  and 
otherwise,  among  all  classes  of  people. 

This  man  possessed  a  type  of  beauty  peculiar  to  himself ; 
it  was  of  remarkable  delicacy,  but  as  far  as  possible  from 
anything  approaching  the  effeminate.  I  have  sat  and  watched 
his  profile  in  repose,  and  wondered  what  redeemed  it  from 
absolute  weakness.  It  might,  perhaps,  have  been  the  tense, 
firm  bending  of  the  bow  in  the  clear-cut  upper  lip,  or  the 
determined  chin,  or  the  resolute  poise  of  the  head ;  or  it  might 
have  been  all  three.  Certain  it  was  that  not  even  the  air 
of  melancholy  meditation,  which  not  infrequently  came  over 
him,  could  give  a  touch  of  effeminacy  to  the  perfect  Grecian 
nose  or  finely  molded  chin.  As  soon  as  he  moved  or  spoke 
all  possibilitity  of  such  a  contingency  vanished.  There  was 
an  abruptness  in  movement,  a  bluntness  in  manner  of  speak- 
ing, a  certain  hrusquerie  of  mien,  which  offended  many  as 
being  absolutely  rude.  In  conversation,  the  small,  tapering 
hands  gave  emphasis  to  his  thoughts,  till  one  watching  them 
forgot  to  criticize,  in  admiring  their  supple  strength.  His 
eyes  were  not  remarkable,  except  upon  occasion.  They  were 
ordinarily  gray  and  cold,  but  when  he  became  animated  they 
changed  into  a  deep  strange  blue. 


DR.  BRANDT'S  WIFE  30i 

That  this  man  should  marry  a  woman  who  might  by  any 
possibility  be  called  coarse,  was  a  marvel  to  some.  It  was  no 
marvel  to  me.  Hers  was  the  only  kind  of  personal  beauty 
which  could  impress  a  man  like  Dr.  Brandt,  and  to  me  there 
had  always  been  something  eminently  befitting  in  their  union. 
She  was  large,  and  had  some  strongly  marked  character- 
istics ;  but  her  form  was  of  such  exquisite  proportions  that  it 
might  have  served  as  a  model  for  the  Greeks.  The  skin, 
perhaps,  was  of  too  dusky  a  hue,  or  might  have  been,  if  the 
eyes  and  coronet  of  hair  had  been  less  gloriously  dark.  The 
massive,  undivided  brows  might  have  been  too  long  and 
straight  had  the  forehead  been  less  broad.  Of  her  inner 
nature  it  is  for  me  to  speak  but  briefly  here.  Her  habitual 
manner  towards  acquaintances  was  reserved — even  haughty 
and  slightly  imperious.  This  might  have  been  either  the 
cause  or  result  of  her  partial  isolation  from  those  of  her  own 
sex,  I  cannot  tell.  She  had  made  no  intimate  friendships; 
Women  were  somewhat  inclined  to  hold  themselves  aloof 
from  her,  but  men  adored  her,  and  kept  the  distance  at 
which  she  was  content  to  hold  them.  In  her  domestic  life 
she  was  gentleness  and  majesty  combined.  She  loved,  and 
to  love  meant  with  her  to  yield  her  nature  wholly  at  the 
throne  of  her  affections.  No  one,  in  her  own  home,  could 
look  into  her  eyes  and  watch  the  light  upon  her  face  and 
say  her  soul  was  meager,  or  her  nature  unrefined. 

When  the  blow  fell,  I  was  hundreds  of  miles  away ;  but  I 
left  my  affairs  as  soon  as  possible  and  hastened  to  my  friend. 

The  servant  who  met  me  at  the  door  drew  me  within  with 
unfeigned  gladness,  and  then  quickly  and  carefully  shut  the 
door  behind  me.  His  usually  cheerful  face  looked  troubled, 
and  when  I  inquired  for  his  master  he  dubiously  shook  his 
head. 

"He  will  see  no  one.  Shuts  himself  up  and  hardly  speaks 
to  me  when  I  take  him  his  meals.  Never  leaves  the  house 
except  at  night,  and  then  paces  up  and  down  the  gravel  walk 
for  hours." 

''But  are  none  of  his  relatives  here?"  I  asked. 


302  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"Two  or  three,  sir,  distant  ones ;  but  he  will  see  none  of 
them." 

"I  think  he  will  see  me,"  I  said,  and  taking  a  card  from 
my  pocket,  I  wrote  a  line  and  gave  it  to  the  man. 

He  returned  presently  and  motioned  me  to  go  up  stairs. 

I  entered  a  room  artificially  darkened,  and  with  some  dif- 
ficulty distinguished  Brandt  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor.  He  neither  spoke  or  changed  his  position  as  I  en- 
tered, and  I  partially  drew  aside  a  curtain  before  I  went  to 
him.  There  was  an  air  of  defiance  in  his  bearing  which 
surprised  me.  His  head  was  never  more  erect,  and  the 
facial  muscles  appeared  stern  and  set.  But  what  impressed 
me  more  was  the  unnatural  color  of  his  eyes ;  they  were 
neither  blue  nor  gray,  but  of  a  strange  dull  leaden  hue  which 
told  of  agony.  He  faced  me  quietly  with  this  look  of  torture 
in  his  glance,  but  made  no  attempt  to  speak  till  I  clasped  his 
hands.    Then  he  threw  himself  into  my  arms  and  wept. 

"I  can't  bear  it !"  he  cried.  "She  was  my  life !  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  dead !" 

He  abruptly  drew  himself  away  from  me  and  sank,  ap- 
parently exhausted,  into  a  chair.  I  sat  and  watched  him. 
His  anguish  cut  me  to  the  heart. 

"Dear  doctor — "  I  began. 

He  interrupted  me  with  a  swift  upward  movement  of  the 
head.  "Never  call  me  that  again !"  he  cried.  Where  was  my 
skill — zi'here  was  my  skill,  that  I  should  let  her  slip  from 
my  grasp  like  this?  I  have  done  more  for  the  veriest  beg- 
gar in  the  street.     A  cruel  fate  has  robbed  me." 

I  was  silent. 

Presently  he  raised  his  eyes  and  caught  my  sympathetic 
glance.  "Forgive,  my  friend,"  he  said ;  "I  am  nearly  mad. 
I  am  glad  you  came,"  he  continued.  "You  have  awakened 
me.  I  have  thought  much  since  I  have  been  shut  in  these 
darkened  rooms,  and  now  I  shall  act.  Who  knows  what 
may  be  done?  The  career  of  medicine  is  in  its  infancy.  I 
have  thought,  now  I  shall  act,"  he  repeated  with  quick  de- 
cision, and  began  pacing  the  room. 

Though  I  could  not  grasp  his  meaning,  I  rejoiced  to  see 


DR.  BRANDT'S  WIFE  ao3 

him  in  his  quite  professional  mood.  Still  less  could  I  trace 
the  connecting  thought,  when  he  stopped  and  placed  both 
hands  on  my  shoulders  with  solemn  impressibility. 

"This  I  know,"  he  said,  "Leila  has  never  left  me.  Her 
body  has  passed  from  my  presence,  but  her  soul,  never.  My 
will  has  acted  as  a  magnet-  assisted  by  our  passionate  love." 

II 

I  had  no  cause  to  complain  of  Dr.  Brandt's  seclusion  after 
this.  He  yielded  himself  so  wholly  to  the  demands  of  his 
profession  that  he  allowed  himself  hardly  time  to  eat  or  to 
sleep.  I  thought  there  was  something  feverish,  something 
not  wholly  natural,  in  the  eagerness  with  which  he  threw 
himself  into  his  work  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night. 

"He  is  trying  to  drown  his  grief,"  I  told  myself.  "Some 
take  to  alcohol  and  some  to  opium.  This  is  safer  than 
either." 

Yet  I  doubted  if  my  solution  was  wholly  correct,  and  my 
doubt  grew  into  uneasiness  as  I  saw  more  of  him. 

There  was  a  strength  in  the  friendship  between  this  man 
and  myself  which  I  have  no  occasion  to  emphasize  here. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  circumstances  which  had  thrown  us 
together  had  made  this  bond  of  more  than  ordinary  sig- 
nificance. It  will  be  understood  that  I  was  more  unwilling 
than  ever  to  leave  him  at  this  crisis,  and  as  it  was  impos- 
sible to  have  him  to  myself  for  five  minutes  together  at  his 
home  or  office,  it  soon  became  a  custom  for  me  to  spend  a 
daily  hour  or  two  with  him  in  his  conveyance. 

I  watched  him  closely ;  I  studied  him  unweariedly  with 
the  hope  of  finding  some  clue  which  might  explain  the  air 
of  strange  expectancy  which  rarely  left  him.  By  words 
which  he  occasionally  let  fail  I  knew  that  Leila  was  con- 
stantly in  his  thoughts.  He  did  not  seem  to  be  trying  to 
forget  his  grief;  he  seemed  to  be  searching  for  something 
which  would  remedy  it. 

It  was  a  matter  of  some  surprise  to  me  that  the  close  car- 
riage for  which  he  had  always  expressed  a  preference  had 
been  exchanged  for  an  open  phaeton,  which  he  used  at  all 


204  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

times  and  in  all  kinds  of  weather.  Seated  in  this,  driving 
through  alleys  or  avenues,  usually  silent,  but  not  apparently 
depressed,  he  kept  a  constant  lookout  on  the  passing  throngs, 
directing  a  keen,  quick  glance  at  every  one  he  met.  He 
noticed  my  observant  look  one  day,  and  something  about  it 
caused  him  to  sink  back  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow. 

"Yes,"  he  said  wearily,  "I  always  look  for  some  one  with 
a  face  like  Leila's.  I  have  never  found  one — yet."  And 
no  effort  of  mine  could  arouse  him. 

On  the  morning  following  this  I  found  it  necessary  to 
leave  for  an  absence  of  several  days,  which  I  was  loath  to 
do  without  first  seeing  Brandt.  I  had  left  him  in  such  a  state 
of  complete  melancholia  the  day  before,  that  I  had  serious 
doubts  as  to  what  might  be  the  result.  Half  hoping  in  the 
possibility  of  finding  him  at  home,  I  directed  my  steps  to 
his  residence  and  rang  the  bell. 

Was  Dr.  Brandt  within  ?  Dr.  Brandt  was  not  within.  Dr. 
Brandt  had  been  summoned  to  the  Aventine  shortly  after 
midnight,  and  had  not  yet  returned.  The  Aventine  was  a 
large  public  hospital  under  the  direction  of  Brandt ;  an  in- 
stitution which  owed  its  existence  to  his  own  magnanimity, 
and  to  which  he  devoted  much  of  his  time. 

I  was  forced  to  leave  without  an  interview.  Returning  at 
the  end  of  a  week,  I  was  surprised  to  learn  that  the  doctor 
had  called  persistently  during  my  absence,  evidently  in  a 
strange  state  of  anxiety  for  my  reappearance.  A  folded  slip 
of  paper  was  handed  to  me,  which  at  first  sight  I  thought 
contained  nothing  more  than  a  request  for  my  presence  at 
his  office ;  but  as  I  was  about  to  throw  it  aside  some  lines 
in  pencil  caught  my  eye: 

"Think  you  I  bear  the  shears  of  destiny? 
Have  I  command  on  the  pulse  of  life?" 

Pondering  upon  the  meaning  of  their  appearance  in  such 
a  place,  I  started  for  his  office.  I  had  no  more  than  reached 
the  gate,  however,  when  I  was  met  by  a  close  carriage,  into 
which  I  was  shut  without  so  much  as  "by  your  leave."  The 
doctor's  manner  had  wholly  changed.     External  objects  no 


DR.  BRANDT'S  WIFE  205 

longer  seemed  to  make  any  impression  upon  him.  He  was 
evidently  strongly  excited,  and  wore  an  exultant,  almost 
happy,  look. 

No  word  was  spoken  till  we  reached  his  rooms.  "My 
friend,"  he  said,  after  he  had  mysteriously  shut  and  locked 
the  door,  "my  friend,  I  have  news  for  you.  I  have  found 
the  face.  This  young  woman,"  he  continued,  and  I  was 
impressed  no  less  by  his  manner  than  by  his  words, — it  was 
a  peculiarity  of  his  to  speak  of  a  patient  for  whom  he  felt  re- 
spect as  a  woman  in  preference  to  a  lady — "this  young 
woman  is  at  the  Aventine.  She  is  very  ill.  I  think  she  will 
die,"  he  softly  informed  me.  "Her  malady  is  a  very  peculiar 
one.  It  has  baffled  her  physicians.  I  confess  that  I  hardly 
understand  it  myself.  I  am  positive  that  there  is  no  organic 
disease — nothing  at  all  but  what  should  yield  to  proper 
remedies.  The  trouble,  I  am  convinced,  is  with  the  soul; 
which,  fortunately  or  unfortunately,  is  beyond  the  reach  of 
physicians  and  physic.  She  wants  to  die.  She  gets  worse, 
she  fails  hourly ;  she  will  die." 

He  made  this  announcement  quite  cheerfully,  with  an  ap- 
proving gesture  of  his  hands,  and  paused  in  thought. 

Presently  he  looked  up  and  added :  "She  says  her  name 
is  Marcella  Prime.  She  is  French.  She  is  naturally  very 
intelligent,  but  quite  uneducated,  poor  girl." 

His  manner  distressed  me  beyond  expression ;  I  thought 
him  undoubtedly  mad.  He  must  have  read  something  of  this 
in  my  look,  for  he  at  once  became  his  own  natural  self.  "My 
friend,"  he  said  gravely,  "all  this  has  naturally  excited  me 
very  much ;  but  I  am  quite  well ;  my  pulse  is  very  good. 
This  woman  is  indeed  ill,  and  she  will  die.  I  would  not  do 
anything  to  hasten  her  death  to  save  my  own  life — no,  nor  to 
regain  Leila's.  I  think  I  have  made  a  discovery,  and  I  shall 
test  it  soon.  I  have  no  fear  of  failure."  Then  he  said,  "You 
shall  see  this  woman,"  and  he  conducted  me  to  the  Aventine. 

She  was  indeed  like  Leila  in  form  and  face — more  slightly 
built,  perhaps,  and  with  features  more  delicately  traced; 
wholly  lacking  in  Leila's  softly  animated  expression  which 
so   subdued   each  strongly  marked   lineament,   yet  with  a 


2o6  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

sad  intelligence  of  glance  which  won  my  sympathy.  She 
could  not  speak  a  word  of  English,  and  I  conversed  with 
her  in  French.  She  was  without  relatives  or  friends,  and 
seemed  to  be  quite  alone  in  the  world.  She  mentioned  as 
her  birthplace  a  small  village  in  the  south  of  France,  of 
which  I  had  never  heard,  and  which  I  have  been  unable  to 
find  on  any  map.  It  here  occurred  to  me  that  Leila  had  also 
come  originally  from  France,  and  that  this  unusual  Hkeness 
was  doubtless  due  to  consanguinity. 

There  seemed  to  be  a  veil  drawn  over  this  woman's  past, 
and  I  was  unwilling  to  agitate  her  by  any  breath  which 
might  lift  it.  When  I  mentioned  Dr.  Brandt,  foolishly 
thinking  to  encourage  her  by  speaking  of  his  great  skill,  she 
answered  with  a  simple  gratitude,  "He  is  very  good,  but  he 
can  do  nothing  for  me."  And  so  I  left  her.  Her  soul  de- 
parted that  night :  I  cannot  say  she  died. 

Ill 

I  have  the  following  details  of  this  remarkable  case  from 
the  chief  nurse  at  the  Aventine : 

At  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  patient  became  uncon- 
scious, and  Dr.  Brandt  took  his  position  beside  the  bed  and 
never  once  left  it  during  the  night.  He  constantly  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  patient,  carefully  noting  every  change, 
counting  every  pulse-beat,  marking  every  breath.  There 
was  no  material  change  till  midnight,  when  the  breathing 
ceased,  and  the  doctor  briefly  announced  that  life  was  ex- 
tinct, yet  he  would  not  allow  the  body  to  be  disturbed,  and 
retained  his  former  position  by  the  bed. 

At  two  o'clock  the  limbs  were  rigid  and  quite  cold.  He 
then  dismissed  the  attending  nurse,  directing  her  to  remain 
within  call. 

At  three  o'clock  he  summoned  assistance  and  ordered  the 
body  to  be  swathed  in  flannels.  Then  he  began  to  chafe  the 
icy  limbs,  slowly  elevated  the  arms  above  the  head,  and  as 
slowly  drew  them  down  again,  sometimes  making  passes 
across  the  brows ;  always  laboring  in  such  a  way  that  he 
commanded  a  full  view  of  the  face.    Once  he  placed  his  mouth 


DR.  BRANDT'S  WIFE  207 

to  the  colorless  lips  and  sent  a  full  breath  into  the  lungs. 
Soon  after  this  a  faint  pulsation  became  perceptible  about 
the  heart,  and  presently  a  trace  of  color  crept  into  the  face. 
The  chafing  was  continued  vigorously  until  a  soft  sigh 
escaped  from  the  lips  and  the  wonderful  dark  eyes  unclosed. 
There  was  a  momentary  quivering  of  the  lids,  followed  by  a 
sleep  almost  as  profound  and  peaceful  as  that  from  which 
the  body  had  been  awakened. 

A  week  or  two  after  this,  during  which  time  I  had  not 
seen  Brandt,  I  met  a  familiar-looking  carriage  on  the  street, 
and  as  I  passed,  the  door  was  opened  and  the  doctor's  head 
thrust  out. 

"Come  and  see  us,"  he  called ;  "we  shall  expect  you  to- 
night." And  before  I  had  time  to  answer,  the  door  was  shut 
and  the  carriage  moved  on. 

I  entered  a  room  softly  but  brilliantly  lighted,  and  found 
seated  before  the  hearth  a  woman  of  queenly  proportions  and 
majestic  mien.  There  was  a  slight  suggestion  of  the  in- 
valid in  the  arrangement  of  draperies,  and  her  dusky  cheek 
lacked  the  full  bloom  of  health  and  strength. 

As  the  portiere  fell  to  the  floor  behind  me,  she  looked  up 
and  then  rose,  holding  out  her  hand  to  me  as  if  I  had  been 
an  old  friend  from  whom  she  had  parted  yesterday. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said  simply,  and  placed  a  chair 
for  me  before  the  fire. 

I  doubted  the  evidence  of  my  own  senses.  Her  tones 
amazed  me,  her  smile  bewildered  me  ;  the  subdued  animation 
of  her  face  made  me  feel  as  if  I  were  going  mad.  What  did 
it  mean  ?    Could  the  dead  return  to  life  ? 

I  sank  into  the  chair,  unable  to  utter  a  word,  and  was 
inexpressibly  relieved  when  a  voice  sounded  from  an  inner 
room.  It  was  the  doctor's,  and  he  was  calling  "Leila."  She 
answered  to  the  call. 

When  I  had  made  my  adieus  that  evening  to  my  friend's 
accomplished  wife,  he  linked  his  arm  within  mine  and  ac- 
companied me  to  a  small  reception  room. 

"In  Heaven's  name,  Brandt,"  I  cried,  "tell  me  what  all  this 
means  1" 


2o8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

He  met  my  excited  look  with  that  calm,  deep,  happy  gaze 
I  knew  so  well  of  old. 

"It  means,"  he  said,  "that  laws  which  have  hitherto  been 
deemed  immutable  can  be  overcome ;  it  means  that  death  is 
not  a  condition,  but  a  transition  of  the  vital  essence  which  it 
is  possible  to  govern ;  it  means  to  me  that  my  wife  is  again 
within  reach  of  my  arms." 

I  had  heard  an  account  of  the  remarkable  resuscitation  of 
an  apparently  lifeless  body,  but  I  was  not  prepared  for  this. 
He  had  removed  the  patient  as  soon  as  possible  and  none  at 
the  Aventine  had  discovered  the  wonderful  change — the  per- 
fect English  tongue  and  the  education  and  refinement  of  the 
intellect. 

In  spite  of  all,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  believe  in  what 
he  accepted  so  implicity,  and  still  questioned,  "Are  you 
sure?" 

"Do  you  doubt?"  he  returned.  "Can  you  doubt,  after  hav- 
ing seen  her  and  spoken  with  her,  and  tested  her  personality 
as  only  one  can  who  has — long  been  her  friend  ?" 

He  saw  me  flush  and  tremble,  and  placed  his  hand  on  my 
arm  with  the  gentleness  of  atonement.  "Do  you  think  I 
could  be  mistaken  in  my  wife?"  he  asked. 

I  did  not ;  but  I  wondered  how  she  accepted  the  condition 
of  things. 

"She  knows  she  has  been  very  ill,"  he  said,  "and  any  slight 
change  in  her  personal  appearance  she  attributes  to  that. 
Her  attendants  are  all  new  servants,  and  have  been  instructed 
never  to  refer  to  past  events.  Perhaps  I  shall  tell  her  all, 
some  time ;  but  not  now.  I  am  waiting  for  her  to  become 
strong  enough  to  go  abroad." 

There  was  another  point  which  I  wished  to  refer  to,  and  I 
did  so  with  a  reluctance  which  I  did  not  attempt  to  account 
for. 

It  was  his  turn  to  flush  now,  but  he  answered  with  a  di- 
rectness which  relieved  us  both. 

"We  were  re-married  before  she  left  the  Aventine.  It  was 
an  anniversary  of  our  wedding-day,  and  she  did  not  think  it 
strange  that  I  should  wish  the  ceremony  to  be  performed 


DR.  BRANDT'S  WIFE  209 

again.  She  smiled  a  little  when  I  spoke  of  it,  and  said  it 
should  be  a  symbol  of  our  new  life  to  come  with  her  return- 
ing health  and  strength." 

"There  is  only  one  more  question,"  I  said.  "What  is  the 
value  of  that  intervening  life  to  her?  I  mean  that  period 
in  which  so  far  as  we  know,  she  was  without  sensible  body?" 

"It  appears  to  be  practically  nil,"  he  replied.  "She  has  no 
certain  recollection  of  any  experience  of  that  time,  though  I 
feel  sure  that  it  must  have  its  influence  upon  her  subsequent 
life.  Memories — cloudlike  fragments — float  to  her  from 
time  to  time,  but  she  thinks  they  are  dreams  induced  by  her 
former  malady." 

Katherine  Grosjean, 


TWO  CASES  OF  GRIP 


w 


HAT'S  this !  What's  this !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bowser, 
as  he  came  home  the  other  evening  and  found  Mrs. 
Bowser  lying  on  the  sofa  and  looking  very  much 
distressed. 


"The  doctor  says  it's  the  grip — a  second  attack,"  she  ex- 
plained. "I  was  taken  with  a  chill  and  headache  about  noon 
and— " 

"Grip?  Second  attack?  That's  all  nonsense,  Mrs.  Bow- 
ser!   Nobody  can  have  the  grip  a  second  time." 

"But  the  doctor  says  so." 

"Then  the  doctor  is  an  idiot,  and  I'll  tell  him  so  to  his  face. 
I  know  what's  the  matter  with  you.  You've  been  walking 
around  the  back  yard  barefoot  or  doing  some  other  foolish 
thing.  I  expected  it,  however.  No  woman  is  happy  unless 
she's  down  flat  about  half  the  time.  How  on  eartli  any  of 
your  sex  manage  to  live  to  be  twenty  years  old  is  a  mystery 
to  me.  The  average  woman  has  no  more  sense  than  a  rag 
baby." 

"I  haven't  been  careless,"  she  replied. 

"I  know  better !  Of  course  you  have !  If  you  hadn't  been 
you  wouldn't  be  where  you  are.  Grip  be  hanged !  Well,  it's 
only  right  that  you  should  suffer  for  it.  Call  it  what  you 
wish,  but  don't  expect  any  sympathy  from  me.  While  I  use 
every  precaution  to  preserve  my  health,  you  go  sloshing 
around  in  your  bare  feet,  or  sit  on  a  cake  of  ice  to  read  a 
dime  novel,  or  do  some  other  tomfool  thing  to  flatten  you 
out.  I  refuse  to  sympatize  with  you,  Mrs.  Bowser — abso- 
lutely and  teetotally  refuse  to  utter  one  word  of  pity." 

Mrs.  Bowser  had  nothing  to  say  in  reply.  Mr.  Bowser  ate 
his  dinner  alone,  took  advantage  of  the  occasion  to  drive  a 
few  nails  and  make  a  great  noise,  and  by  and  by  went  off  to 
his  club  and  was  gone  until  midnight.    Next  morning  Mrs. 

210 


TWO  CASES  OF  GRIP  211 

Bowser  felt  a  bit  better  and  made  a  heroic  attempt  to  be 
about,  until  he  started  for  the  office. 

The  only  reference  he  made  to  her  illness  was  to  say : 

"If  you  live  to  be  three  hundred  years  old,  you  may  possi- 
bly learn  something  about  the  laws  of  health  and  be  able  to 
keep  out  of  bed  three  days  in  a  week." 

Mrs.  Bowser  was  all  right  at  the  end  of  three  or  four  days, 
and  nothing  more  was  said.  Then  one  afternoon  at  three 
o'clock  a  carriage  drove  up  and  a  stranger  assisted  Mr.  Bow- 
ser into  the  house.  He  was  looking  pale  and  ghastly,  and 
his  chin  quivered,  and  his  knees  wobbled. 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Bowser  ?"  she  exclaimed,  as  she  met  him 
at  the  door. 

"Bed — doctor — death!"  he  gasped  in  reply. 

Mrs.  Bowser  got  him  to  bed  and  examined  him  for  bullet 
holes  or  knife  wounds.  There  wer'?  none.  He  had  no 
broken  limbs.  He  hadn't  fallen  off  a  horse  or  been  half 
drowned.  When  she  had  satisfied  herself  on  these  points  she 
asked : 

"How  were  you  taken  ?" 

"W-with  a  ch-chill!"  he  gasped — "with  a  ch-chill  and  a 
b-backache!" 

"I  thought  so.  Mr.  Bowser,  you  have  the  grip — a  second 
attack.  As  I  have  some  medicine  left,  there's  no  need  to 
send  for  the  doctor.    I'll  have  you  all  right  in  a  day  or  two." 

"Get  the  doctor  at  once,"  wailed  Mr.  Bowser,  "or  I'm  a 
dead  man !  Such  a  backache !  So  cold !  ]Mrs.  Bowser,  if  I 
should  d-die,  I  hope — " 

Emotion  overcame  ^Ir.  Bowser,  and  he  could  say  no  more. 
The  doctor  came  and  pronounced  it  a  second  attack  of  grip, 
but  a  very  mild  one.  When  he  had  departed,  Mrs.  Bowser 
didn't  accuse  Mr.  Bowser  with  putting  on  his  summer 
flannels  a  month  too  soon ;  with  forgetting  his  umbrella  and 
getting  soaked  through ;  with  leaving  his  rubbers  at  home 
and  having  damp  feet  all  day.  She  didn't  express  her  won- 
der that  he  hadn't  died  years  ago  nor  predict  that  when  he 
reached  the  age  of  Methuselah  he  would  know  better  than  to 
roll  in  snowbanks  or  stand  around  in  mud  puddles.     She 


212  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

didn"t  kick  over  chairs  or  slam  doors  or  leave  him  alone. 
When  Mr.  Bowser  shed  tears,  she  wiped  them  away.  When 
he  moaned,  she  held  his  hand.  When  he  said  he  felt  that  the 
grim  specter  was  near,  and  wanted  to  kiss  the  baby  good- 
bye, she  cheered  him  with  the  prediction  that  he  would  be  a 
great  deal  better  next  day. 

Mr.  Bowser  didn't  get  up  next  day,  though  the  doctor  said 
he  could.  He  lay  in  bed  and  sighed  and  uttered  sorrowful 
moans  and  groans.  He  wanted  toast  and  preserves ;  he  had 
to  have  help  to  turn  over ;  he  worried  about  a  relapse ;  he 
had  to  have  a  damp  cloth  on  his  forehead  ;  he  wanted  to  have 
a  council  of  doctors,  and  he  read  over  the  copy  of  his  last  will 
and  testament  three  times. 

Mr.  Bowser  was  all  right  next  morning,  however.  When 
Mrs.  Bowser  asked  him  how  he  felt  he  replied  : 

"How  do  I  feel?  Why,  as  right  as  a  trivet,  of  course. 
When  a  man  takes  the  care  of  himself  that  I  do — when  he 
has  the  nerve  and  will  power  I  have — he  can  throw  oflf  'most 
anything.  You  would  have  died,  Mrs.  Bowser;  but  I  was 
scarcely  affected.  It  was  just  a  play  spell.  I'd  like  to  be 
real  sick  once  just  to  see  how  it  would  seem.  Cholera,  I 
suppose  it  was ;  but  outside  of  feeling  a  little  tired,  I  wasn't 
at  all  affected." 

And  the  dutiful  Mrs.  Bowser  looked  at  him  and  swallowed 
it  all,  and  never  said  a  word  to  hurt  his  feelings. 

Charles  B.  Lewis  ("M.  Quad"). 


T 


BAKED  BEANS  AND  CULTURE 

HE  members  of  the  Boston  Commercial  Club  are 
charming  gentlemen.  They  are  now  the  guests  of 
the  Chicago  Commercial  Club,  and  are  being  shown 
every  attention  that  our  market  affords.  They  are 
a  fine  looking  lot,  well-dressed  and  well-mannered,  with  just 
enough  whiskers  to  be  impressive  without  being  imposing. 

"This  is  a  darned  likely  village,"  said  Seth  Adams  last 
evening.  "Everybody  is  rushin'  'round  an'  doin'  business 
as  if  his  life  depended  on  it.  Should  think  they'd  git  all 
tuckered  out  'fore  night,  but  I'll  be  darned  if  there  ain't  just 
as  many  folks  on  the  street  after  nightfall  as  afore.  We're 
stoppin'  at  the  Palmer  tavern,  an'  my  chamber  is  up  so  all- 
fired  high  that  I  can  count  your  meetin'  house  steeples  from 
the  winder." 

Last  night  five  or  six  of  these  Boston  merchants  sat  around 
the  office  of  the  hotel  and  discussed  matters  and  things. 
Pretty  soon  they  got  to  talking  about  beans;  this  was  a 
subject  which  they  dwelt  on  with  evident  pleasure. 

"Waal,  sir,"  said  Ephraim  Taft,  a  wholesale  dealer  in  ma- 
ple sugar,  and  flavored  lozenges,  "you  kin  talk  'bout  your 
new-fashioned  dishes  an'  high-falutin'  vittles  ;  but,  when  you 
come  right  down  to  it,  there  ain't  no  better  eatin'  than  a  dish 
o'  baked  pork  'n'  beans." 

"That's  so  b'  gosh !"  chorused  the  others. 

"The  truth  o'  the  matter  is,"  continued  j\Ir.  Taft,  "that 
beans  is  good  for  everybody — it  don't  make  no  difference 
whether  he's  well  or  sick.  Why,  I've  known  a  thousand  folks 
— waal,  mebbe  not  quite  a  thousand :  but — waal,  now,  jest  to 
show,  take  the  case  of  Bill  Holbrook :  you  remember  Bill, 
don't  ye?" 

"Bill  Holbrook  ?"  said  Mr.  Ezra  Eastman  ;  "why,  of  course 

213 


214  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

I  do!  Used  to  live  down  to  Brimfield,  next  to  the  Moses 
Howard  fami." 

"That's  the  man,"  resumed  Mr.  Taft.  "Waal,  Bill  fell 
sick, —  kinder  moped  round,  tired  like,  for  a  week  or  two,  an' 
then  tuck  to  his  bed.  His  folks  sent  for  Doc  Smith — ol'  Doc 
Smith  that  used  to  carry  a  pair  o'  leather  saddle-bags.  Gosh, 
they  don't  have  no  sech  doctors  nowadays !  Waal,  the  doc, 
he  come ;  an'  he  looked  at  Bill's  tongue,  an'  felt  uv  his  pulse, 
an'  said  that  Bill  had  typhus  fever.  01'  Doc  Smith  was  a 
very  careful,  conserv'tive  man,  an'  he  never  said  nothin'  un- 
less he  knowed  he  was  right. 

"Bill  began  to  git  wuss,  an'  he  kep'  a-gittin'  wuss  every 
day.  One  mornin'  ol'  Doc  Smith  scz,  'Look  a-here,  Bill,  I 
guess  you're  a-goner :  as  I  figger  it,  you  can't  hoi'  out  till 
nightfall.' 

"Bill's  mother  insisted  on  a  con-sul-tation  bein'  held ;  so  ol' 
Doc  Smith  sent  over  for  young  Doc  Brainard.  I  calc'late 
that,  next  to  ol'  Doc  Smith,  young  Doc  Brainard  was  the 
smartest  doctor  that  ever  lived. 

"Waal,  pretty  soon  along  come  Doc  Brainard ;  an'  he  an' 
Doc  Smith  went  all  over  Bill,  an'  looked  at  his  tongue,  an' 
felt  uv  his  pulse,  an'  told  him  it  was  a  gone  case,  an'  that  he 
had  got  to  die.  Then  they  went  on  into  the  spare  chamber 
to  hold  their  con-sul-tation. 

"Waal,  Bill  he  lay  there  in  the  front  room  a-pantin'  an' 
a-gaspin',  an'  a-wond'rin'  whether  it  wuz  true.  As  he  wuz 
thinkin',  up  comes  the  girl  to  git  a  clean  table-cloth  out  of  the 
clothes-press,  an'  she  left  the  door  ajar  as  she  come  in.  Bill 
he  gave  a  sniff,  an'  his  eyes  grew  more  natural  like ;  he 
gathered  together  all  the  strength  he  had,  and  he  raised  him- 
self up  on  one  elbow,  and  sniffed  again. 

"  'Sary,'  says  he,  'wot's  that  a-cookin'?' 

"  'Beans,'  says  she ;  'beans  for  dinner.' 

"  'Sary,'  says  the  dyin'  man,  'I  must  hev  a  plate  uv  them 
beans !' 

"  'Sakes  alive,  Mr.  Holbrook!'  says  she;  'if  you  wuz  to  eat 
any  o'  them  beans  it'd  kill  ye  1' 


BAKED  BEANS  AND  CULTURE         213 

"  'If  I've  got  to  die,'  says  he,  'I'm  goin'  to  die  happy ! 
Fetch  me  a  plate  uv  them  beans.' 

"Waal,  Sary  she  pikes  off  to  the  doctors. 

"  'Look  a-here,'  says  she ;  'iMr.  Holbrook  smelt  the  beans 
cookin',  an'  he  says  he's  got  to  have  some.  Now,  what  shall 
I  do  about  it?' 

"  'Waal,  Doctor,'  says  Doc  Smith,  'what  do  you  think 
about  it?' 

"  'He's  got  to  die  anyhow,'  says  Doc  Brainard  ;  'an'  I  don't 
suppose  the  beans'll  make  any  diff'rence.' 

"  'That's  the  way  I  figger  it,'  says  Doc  Smith  ;  'in  all  my 
practice  I  never  knew  of  beans  hurtin'  anybody.' 

"So  Sary  went  down  to  the  kitchen  an'  brought  up  a  plate- 
ful of  hot  baked  beans.  Doc  Smith  raised  Bill  up  in  bed,  an' 
Doc  Brainard  put  a  piller  under  the  small  of  Bill's  back. 
Then  Sary  sat  down  by  the  bed  an'  fed  them  beans  into  Bill 
until  Bill  couldn't  hold  any  more. 

"  'How  air  you  feelin'  now?"  asked  Doc  Smith. 

"Bill  didn't  say  nuthin' ;  he  jest  smiled  sort  uv  peaceful 
like  an'  closed  his  eyes. 

"  'The  end  hez  come,'  said  Doc  Brainard  sof 'ly ;  'Bill  is 
dyin'.' 

"Then  Bill  murmured  kind  o'  far-away  like :  'I  ain't 
dyin' ;   I'm  dead  an'  in  heaven.' 

"Next  mornin'  Bill  got  out  uv  bed  an'  done  a  big  day's 
work  on  the  farm,  an'  he  hain't  hed  a  sick  spell  since.  Them 
beans  cured  him!    I  tell  you,  sir,  that  beans  is,"  etc. 

Eugene  Field. 


FANCY  DISEASES 


f^  ^ISEASES  is  very  various,"  said  Mrs.  Partington,  as 
I  3  she  returned  from  a  street-door  conversation  with 
Doctor  Bolus.  "The  doctor  tells  me  that  poor  Mrs. 
Haze  has  got  two  buckles  on  her  lungs!  It  is 
dreadful  to  think  of,  I  declare.  The  disease  is  so  various! 
One  way  we  hear  of  people's  dying  of  hermitage  of  the 
lungs ;  another  way,  of  the  brown  creatures ;  here  they  tell 
us  of  the  elementary  canal  being  out  of  order,  and  there 
about  tonsors  of  the  throat ;  here  we  hear  of  neurology  in 
the  head,  there,  of  an  embargo ;  one  side  of  us  we  hear  of 
men  being  killed  by  getting  a  pound  of  tough  beef  in  the 
sarcofagus,  and  there  another  kills  himself  by  discovering 
his  jocular  vein.  Things  change  so  that  I  declare  I  don't 
know  how  to  subscribe  for  any  diseases  nowadays.  New 
names  and  new  nostrils  takes  the  place  of  the  old,  and  I 
might  as  well  throw  my  old  herb-bag  away." 

Fifteen  minutes  afterward  Isaac  had  that  herb-bag  for  a 
target  and  broke  three  squares  of  glass  in  the  cellar  window 
in  trying  to  hit  it,  before  the  old  lady  knew  what  he  was 
about.    She  didn't  mean  exactly  what  she  said. 

B.  P.  Shillaber. 


2l6 


TUSKMAKER'S  TOOTHPULLER 


DOCTOR  Tuskmaker  was  never  regularly  bred  as  a 
physician  or  surgeon,  but  he  possessed  naturally  a 
strong  mechanical  genius  and  a  fine  appetite ;  and 
finding  his  teeth  of  great  service  in  gratifying  the 
latter  propensity,  he  concluded  that  he  could  do  more  good 
in  the  world,  and  create  more  real  happiness  therein,  by 
putting  the  teeth  of  its  inhabitants  in  good  order  than  in  any 
other  vi'ay ;  so  Tuskmaker  became  a  dentist.  He  was  the  man 
who  first  invented  the  method  of  placing  small  cog-wheels 
in  the  back  teeth  for  the  more  perfect  mastication  of  food, 
and  he  claimed  to  be  the  original  discoverer  of  that  method 
of  filling  cavities  with  a  kind  of  putty  which,  becoming  hard 
directly,  causes  the  tooth  to  ache  so  grievously  that  it  has  to 
be  pulled,  thereby  giving  the  dentist  two  successive  fees  for 
the  same  job. 

Tuskmaker  was  one  day  seated  in  his  office,  in  the  city  of 
Boston,  Massachusetts,  when  a  stout  old  fellow  named 
Byles  presented  himself  to  have  a  back  tooth  drawn.  The 
dentist  seated  his  patient  in  the  chair  of  torture,  and,  opening 
his  mouth,  discovered  there  an  enormous  tooth,  on  the  right- 
hand  side,  about  as  large,  as  he  afterward  expressed  it,  "as 
a  small  Polyglot  Bible." 

"I  shall  have  trouble  with  this  tooth,"  thought  Tuskmaker, 
but  he  clapped  on  his  heaviest  forceps  and  pulled.  It  didn't 
come.  Then  he  tried  the  turn-screw,  exerting  his  utmost 
strength,  but  the  tooth  wouldn't  stir.  "Go  away  from  here," 
said  Tuskmaker  to  Byles,  "and  return  in  a  week,  and  I'll 
draw  that  tooth  for  you  or  know  the  reason  why."  Byles 
got  up,  clapped  his  handkerchief  to  his  jaw,  and  put  forth. 
Then  the  dentist  went  to  work,  and  in  three  days  he  invented 
an  instrument  which  he  was  confident  would  pull  anything. 

217 


2i8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

It  was  a  combination  of  the  lever,  pulley,  wheel  and  axle,  in- 
clined plane,  wedge  and  screw.  The  castings  were  made, 
and  the  machine  put  up  in  the  office,  over  an  iron  chair  ren- 
dered perfectly  stationary  by  iron  rods  going  down  into  the 
foundations  of  the  granite  building.  In  a  week  old  Byles  re- 
turned ;  he  was  clamped  into  the  iron  chair,  the  forceps  con- 
nected with  the  machine  attached  firmly  to  the  tooth,  and 
Tuskmaker,  stationing  himself  in  the  rear,  took  hold  of  a 
lever  four  feet  in  length.  He  turned  it  slightly.  Old  Byles 
gave  a  groan  and  lifted  his  right  leg.  Another  turn,  another 
groan,  and  up  went  the  leg  again. 

"What  do  you  raise  your  leg  for  ?"  asked  the  Doctor 

"I  can't  help  it,"  said  the  patient. 

"Well,"  rejoined  Tuskmaker,  "that  tooth  is  bound  to  come 
out  now." 

He  turned  the  lever  clear  round  with  a  sudden  jerk,  and 
snapped  old  Byles's  head  clean  and  clear  off  his  shoulders, 
leaving  a  space  of  four  inches  between  the  severed  parts ! 

They  had  a  post-mortem  examination — the  roots  of  the 
tooth  were  found  extending  down  the  right  side,  through  the 
right  leg,  and  turning  up  in  two  prongs  under  the  sole  of  the 
right  foot! 

"No  wonder,"  said  Tuskmaker,  "he  raised  his  right  leg." 

The  jury  thought  so,  too,  but  they  found  the  roots  much 
decayed  ;  and  five  surgeons  swearing  that  mortification  would 
have  ensued  in  a  few  months.  Tuskmaker  was  cleared  on  a 
verdict  of  "justifiable  homicide." 

He  was  a  little  shy  of  that  instrument  for  some  time  after- 
ward ;  but  one  day  an  old  lady,  feeble  and  flaccid,  came  in  to 
have  a  tooth  drawn,  and  thinking  it  would  come  out  very 
easy,  Tuskmaker  concluded,  just  by  way  of  variety,  to  try 
the  machine.  He  did  so,  and  at  the  first  turn  drew  the  old 
lady's  skeleton  completely  and  entirely  from  her  body,  leav- 
ing her  a  mass  of  quivering  jelly  in  her  chair !  Tuskmaker 
took  her  home  in  a  pillow-case. 

The  woman  lived  seven  years  after  that,  and  they  called  her 
the  "India-Rubber  Woman."  She  had  suffered  terribly 
with  the  rheumatism,  but  after  this  occurrence  never  had  a 


TUSK.MAKER'S  TOOTHPULLER  219 

pain  in  her  bones.  The  dentist  l<ept  them  in  a  glass  case. 
After  this,  the  machine  was  sold  to  the  contractor  of  the 
Boston  Custom-House,  and  it  was  found  that  a  child  three 
years  of  age  could,  by  a  single  turn  of  the  screw,  raise  a  stone 
weighing  twenty-three  tons.  Smaller  ones  were  made  on 
the  same  principle  and  sold  to  the  keepers  of  hotels  and  res- 
taurants. They  were  used  for  boning  turkeys.  There  is  no 
moral  to  this  story  whatever,  and  it  is  possible  that  the  cir- 
cumstances may  have  become  slightly  exaggerated.  Of 
course,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  truth  of  the  main  inci- 
dents. 

G.  H.  Derby. 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  MUSIC  IN  MEDICINE 


HAT  music  is  deserving  of  a  place  in  our  materia 

mcdica  we  cannot  deny.    Yet  music  has  her  own 

materia  mcdica,  and  it  has  been  said  that  while 

there  may  not  be  much  music  in  medicine,  there  is 

a  great  deal  of  medicine  in  music. 

There  is  but  one  universal  language  that  is  expressive  of 
the  ideas,  feelings,  and  sentiments  common  to  all  mankind, 
and  that  is  music.  It  binds  us  to  every  created  thing.  Aside 
from  its  value  as  an  art,  it  is,  and  has  always  been,  one  of 
the  greatest  civilizing  agents.  It  has  gone  hand  in  hand 
with  religious  and  traditional  beliefs.  We  cannot  cite  a 
nation  that  has  not  had  its  religion,  nor  can  we  cite  one  with- 
out its  music.  We  are  told  that  David  played  before  Saul, 
and  that  he  drove  away  the  evil  spirit,  and  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end,  the  Scriptures  dwell  upon  the  powers  of 
music. 

What  art,  save  music,  follows  man  into  the  depths  of 
misery  and  insanity?  When  the  consciousness  of  the  indi- 
vidual's danger  for  the  first  time  dawns  upon  him,  and  the 
terror  and  agony  of  the  moment  stun  him ;  when  every 
hour  he  realizes  that  he  is  unequal  to  the  conflict  of  master- 
ing himself — nothing  soothes  and  comforts  him  as  do  the 
strains  of  sweet  music  that  seem  to  promise  calm  to  his 
weary  heart.  In  our  hospitals  for  the  insane  we  find  pa- 
tients, lost  to  every  other  sense  and  emotion,  performing 
quartets  and  quintets  with  a  degree  of  perfection  that  rivals 
professional  musicians.  I  believe  that  every  one  who  has 
had  occasion  to  observe  the  fact,  will  acknowledge  that 
music  is  a  powerful  agent  in  our  insane  hospitals,  and  that 
when  all  other  means  of  quieting  fail,  patients  will  often 
yield  to  music. 

The  beneficial  influence  of  music  over  the  sick  is  not  a 

220 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  MUSIC  221 

fancied  one.  Its  influence  upon  the  nervous  organization 
and  the  temperament  of  man  has  not  been  sufficiently 
studied  by  medical  men  of  the  present  day.  The  reason 
why  we  do  not  attach  sufficient  importance  to  it  as  a 
means  of  combating  crime  and  disease,  and  the  consequent 
effects  of  heredity,  is  that  we  do  not  recognize  in  music  an 
anodyne,  a  nerve  soother,  and  also  the  means  that  may  be 
used  to  elevate  the  general  moral,  social  and  physical  stand- 
ing. Of  course,  as  with  every  other  agent,  the  beneficial  re- 
sults are  largely  governed  by  the  age,  sex  and  temperament 
of  the  individual,  and  by  the  character  of  the  music,  to  meet 
the  need. 

"From  the  moment  that  the  little  infant  is  lulled  to  sweet 
sleep  by  its  mother's  song,  through  childhood's  happy  hours 
and  the  time  when  love's  impulse  finds  its  first  expression  in 
song,  to  the  time  when  night  is  about  to  close  in  upon  our 
earthly  career,  music  is  with  us,  and  we  part  with  it  then, 
only  to  take  up  the  unfinished  strain  in  the  great  beyond, 
where,  we  are  told,  there  is  one  grand,  eternal  song  of 
praise." 

The  relation  between  music  and  medicine  is  not  difficult  to 
trace,  but  any  attempt  at  comprehensiveness  in  such  a  sub- 
ject would  be  impossible.  From  anatomy  we  learn  of  the 
wonderful  structure  of  the  human  ear ;  of  the  three  thousand 
extremely  minute  fibers  that  are  the  termination  of  the 
acoustic  nerve ;  cortex  fibers  lining  the  membranous  part  of 
the  diaphragm,  each  tuned  for  a  particular  note  as  if  it  were 
a  small  resonator.  When  the  vibrations  of  any  particular 
note  reach  these  fibers,  through  the  intervention  of  the  stir- 
rup bone  and  the  fluids,  only  one  fiber  or  set  of  fibers  vi- 
brates in  unison  with  this  note,  and  is  deaf  to  all  others. 
These  little  microscopic  fibers  analyze  the  most  complex 
tones,  and  reveal  their  constituents.  Music  pervades  all 
nature.  The  successive  auricular  and  ventricular  contraction 
and  period  of  relaxation  comprise  what  we  are  pleased  to 
term  the  rhythm  of  the  heart.  There  is  also  a  rhythmic  ac- 
tion of  the  lungs  which  is  mysterious,  and  hints  of  much  that 
is  unknown. 


222  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

Perhaps  one  of  the  ablest  authors  upon  this  particular 
subject  is  Dr.  Cliomet.  He  claims  that  there  is  a  musical 
or  sonorous  fluid  similar  to  electricity,  light,  and  heat,  and 
that  this  fluid  impregnates  almost  all  bodies,  and  that  it  is 
developed  by  friction,  blows,  or  chemical  decomposition.  The 
power  of  music  over  the  animal  creation  is  well  known. 
The  allusion  to  King  Saul's  troubled  spirit  might  be  fol- 
lowed by  mention  of  the  fall  of  the  walls  of  Jericho,  and 
the  order  of  Elijah  to  blow  trumpets  when  he  called  down 
the  Spirit  of  God. 

It  will  not  be  out  of  place,  perhaps,  to  cite  a  few  instances 
of  the  effects  of  music  upon  different  individuals.  Gretry 
said  that  it  made  his  heart  really  beat  faster.  Berlioz's  whole 
being  vibrated  when  listening  to  music,  expressing  it  as  he 
does :  "My  blood  circulates  more  quickly,  and  my  pulse 
beats  faster."  It  is  said  that  the  English  army,  after  partial 
defeat  at  Quebec  in  1768,  turned  and  was  led  to  victory  by 
the  music  of  the  Scotch  pipers.  A  German  historian  de- 
clares that  the  "Marseillaise"  caused  the  loss  of  fifty  thou- 
sand German  soldiers.  It  is  said  that  Mehlbrau  was  thrown 
into  convulsions  upon  hearing  "Beethoven's  Symphony"  for 
the  first  time.  Rousseau  relates  the  case  of  a  woman  who 
was  thrown  into  violent  laughter  when  hearing  music.  Paul- 
inus  tells  of  a  man  who  invariably  vomited  when  listening  to 
music. 

The  general  character  of  ancient  music  is  too  little  known 
to  admit  of  attaching  much  importance  to  the  reports  of 
early  writers.  As  early  a  writer  as  Baglivi  says  that  "if 
physical  exercise,  such  as  walking,  be  impossible,  let  the 
patient  sing  or  speak  freely."  Incredible  as  it  may  seem, 
Bonet  mentions  cases  of  gout  being  cured  by  singing. 
Lourages  relates  the  case  of  a  man  suffering  from  an  inter- 
mittent fever,  whose  depression  could  be  relieved  only  by 
the  sounds  of  a  drum.  Roger  has  recommended  music  as  a 
cure  for  phthisis.  Voltaire's  bon  mot,  that  the  opera  was 
designed  to  promote  digestion,  would  seem  to  be  supported 
by  the  common  custom  of  having  music  rendered  during 
meals.     The  records  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  are  filled 


THE  INFLUENCE  OF  MUSIC  223 

with  reports  of  seemingly  incredible  cures  effected  by  the 
aid  of  music. 

An  illustrious  musician  and  composer  was  attacked  with 
fever  which  constantly  increased  in  violence.  On  the 
seventh  day  he  lapsed  into  a  violent  delirium,  accompanied 
by  cries  and  tears,  and  by  expressions  of  terror  and  lack  of 
sleep.  One  day  he  asked  for  music,  and,  with  many  mis- 
givings, the  physician  consented.  As  soon  as  the  patient 
heard  the  sweet  strains  he  became  calm,  his  eyes  assumed 
a  quiet  expression  and  all  convulsions  ceased.  While  the 
music  continued  he  shed  tears  of  joy  and  the  fever  left 
him ;  but  no  sooner  had  the  music  ceased  than  he  relapsed 
into  his  former  condition.  Music  was  therefore  continued, 
and  after  this  treatment  for  several  days  the  patient  became 
well. 

Dr.  Chomet  says  that  he  witnessed  a  case  of  a  physician 
suffering  from  an  apoplectic  attack.  He  was  the  first  to 
prescribe  for  him,  but  the  medicine  had  no  effect.  Half  of 
the  patient's  body  was  paralyzed,  and  it  was  with  difficulty 
that  he  spoke.  After  some  little  improvement  he  asked  for 
the  privilege  of  hearing  some  music,  having  all  his  life 
been  fond  of  that  art.  His  request  was  granted,  and  with 
great  benefit.  What  one  of  us,  when  tossing  feverish  and 
sleepless,  has  not  been  quieted  and  refreshed  by  some 
favorite  strain  of  sweetest  music? 

Dr.  Charles  H.  Merz. 


HAY  FEVER 


j^  PREVALENT  disease  just  now  is  hay  fever.  Ir- 
^^  ritating  and  awful  as  it  is,  there  is  something  ad- 
mirable and  suggestive  in  the  mcthodicity  of  it. 
Personally  I  have  had  it  as  a  guest  and  master  every 
August  and  September  for  twenty-six  years.  Every  one 
who  has  it,  receives  circulars  by  the  score  as  to  cures.  Don't 
bother  with  them,  fellow-sufferers.  They  are  a  delusion  and 
a  snare.  Nothing  will  cure  it.  Whisky  is  an  alleviator  and 
4  per  cent,  cocaine  spray  is  a  help,  but  there  is  no  cure  but 
the  casket,  and  for  that,  no  one  of  us  is  ready. 

It  is  a  providential  peculiarity  that  every  incident  in  life 
teaches  some  good  lesson.  This,  if  I  were  an  orthodox  min- 
ister, I  could  easily  show  by  reference  to  lots  of  incidents  in 
ordinary  life.  As  it  is,  I  call  your  brotherly  attention  to  the 
fact  that  hay  fever,  coming  but  once  a  year,  comes  on 
schedule  time  and  means  business  during  its  stay.  Who  has 
never  lost  a  train  by  being  "just  a  trifle  too  late"  ?  You  and 
I  have,  but  hay  fever  never  lost  anything.  Time  is  its  slave. 
Whose  hand  has  never  been  stayed  by  pity  and  compassion  ? 
You  and  I  have  paused  many  times  when  on  the  verge  of 
revenge ;  but  hay  fever  never  spared  anyone  for  whom  it 
had  a  grudge. 

How  often  we  have  neglected  some  piece  of  work,  some 
duty;  but  find  me,  if  you  can,  an  instance  where  this  queer 
nasal  development  has  forgotten  duty  or  forgone  allotted 
work,  for  punctuality  is  a  virtue,  and  means  much  at  all 
times.  Ask  a  banker.  He  will  tell  you  that  rigid  attention 
to  time  is  a  sine  qua  non,  and  he  would  tolerate  almost  any 
fault  rather  than  have  aught  to  do  with  a  man  who  took  no 
note  of  time,  and  who  never  regarded  the  time  when  his  note 
was  due.  Imagine  a  sweetheart,  forgetting  to  be  on  hand 
when  "she"  was  ready  for  drive,  theater,  or  even  church. 
With  this  in  mind,  I  sing  the  praises  of  hay  fever,  the  king 
of  punctuality,  regnant  in  the  realms  of  unneglected — though 

disagreeable— duty. 

Joe  Howard. 

224 


THE  LEUCOCYTE  AND  MICROBE 

A   TRAGEDY   IN    ONE  ACT 

(A  "Pathogenic  Microbe"  and  Leucocyte  meet  at  a  capillary 

cross-roads.     The  Microbe  nods  to  the  Leucocyte  with 

the  most  patronizing  loftiness  and  zvithering  scorn.) 

Leucocyte.  How,  now,  thou  measly  pathologic  after- 
thought? Why,  now,  that  stiff  pavonian  strut — that  glairy 
glare  of  deep  self-competence  ?  Make  thy  obeisance ;  ere  I 
kick  thee  to  the  moon  and  back ! 

Microbe.  Stand  and  deliver!  I  a  bandit  am.  Me 
quarters  head  are  in  the  pathogenic  camp. 

Leu.  Now,  dam-me,  hath  it  come  to  this?  (Aside.) 
Some  of  the  pother  out  among  the  doctors  hath,  by  some 
strange  chance,  sifted  itself  down  into  its  consciousness.  A 
new-born  vanity  possesses  it,  and  chortling  self  conceit  e'er 
cocks  its  hat.     {To  Microbe.)     And  thou  a  bandit  art? 

Mic.     That's  what  I  art ;  md  OH-doth  dit  careers. 

Leu.  (Aside.)  The  pertness  of  lord-buttressed  little- 
ness !  'Twas  ever  so.  The  mantle  doth  not  fit,  and  evil 
manducations  wimple  out  in  acrid  gaucheries.  I'll  humor 
it  awhile.     (To  Microbe.)     Thou  hast  the  drop  on  me. 

Mic.    I  hast. 

Leu.  Oh,  brave,  proud  bandit,  dwellst  not  the  semblance 
of  sweet  mercy  in  thy  soul  ? 

Mic.     Nary  a  semb-,  nor  lance  of  it. 

Leu.     Art  thou  so  heartless,  then? 

Mic.     Thou  bet  I  art. 

Leu.     Wilt  thou  no  quarters  give? 

Mic.  Me  quarters  hind  I'll  show  to  thee  when  I  have 
done  with  thee. 

Leu.  Now,  God  forfend;  what  wouldst  thou  that  I 
give? 

225 


226  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

Mic.  Merely  thy  life — our  totem  is  the  bat  of  Sepsis,  and 
our  motto,  'sdeath ! 

Leu.  I  pale  me  in  the  splendor  of  thy  grand  mag- 
nificence;  oh,  sweet  bacterium,  let  me  live,  live  but  as  a 
lieutenant  to  serve  thcc. 

Mic.     It  can  not,  shall  not  was. 

Leu.     Thy  secretary,  then. 

Mic.     Ni.xie  {shaking  its  head),  nit. 

Leu.     Thy  factotum. 

Mic.     Come  off — we  are  a  fact,  and  we  a  totem  have. 

Leu.     Thy  boot-black,  please. 

Mic.  Me  wants  are  all  supplied,  and  thy  vain  twaddle 
serveth  not. 

Leu.  Oh,  thou  precious  sanguiferous  recidivist,  I  have 
a  wife. 

Mic.     Das  macht  nichts  aus. 

Leu.  a  child  whose  innocence  and  pleading  trust  would 
move  a  fiend. 

Mic.     Thy  watery  translucent  kid  be-dam ! 

Leu.  (Aside.)  Shall  not  the  cat  play  with  her  prey? 
Shall  not  the  Microbe  do  the  same,  and — shall  not  I?  (To 
Microbe.)  Thou  art  exceeding  clever.  Much  thou  must 
have  pondered  problems  vast. 

Mic.  My  constitution  bendeth  "neath  its  weight  of  knowl- 
edge gained. 

Leu.  'Tis  good.  Perhaps  thou'll  deign  to  sweeten  up 
my  death  with  seerish  answerings? 

Mic.     That  much  I  will  concede.     Shoot  off. 

Leu.  But  first :  how  didst  thou  get  within  my  fair 
domain  ? 

Mic.     The  bars  were  down,  and  I  walked  in. 

Leu.  Can'st  thou  remember  it?  If  not,  then  why  so 
confident? 

Mic.  'Tis  true  I  can't ;  but  'tis  a  scientific  fact — a  fact 
bacteriological. 

Leu.     Thou'rt  sure  of  this  ? 

Mic.     Dead  sure — the  bulged  of  brow  have  so  declared. 

Leu.     (Aside.)     The  crass  credulity  of  slaves  to  spec- 


THE  LEUCOCYTE  AND  MICROBE  227 

tacled  authority!  The  theory  may  be  true,  it  may  be  false. 
At  most,  predacious  bugs  could  only  give  disease  its  spec- 
ificity. Not  else,  because  "the  bars"  mtisl  be  let  down  for 
them.     (To  Microbe.)     What  label  wearest  thou? 

Mic.  (Bristling.)  Me  badge  is  that  of  the  great  Diph- 
theritic cult. 

Leu.     Pray,  where  thy  orig'nal  habitat? 

Mic.     (Scratching  its  head.)     Within  a  sewer  pipe. 

Leu.     Whence  thy  specificness? 

Mic.  (Winking  rapidly.)  Now,  wot  th'  "11  is  that  to 
you? 

Leu.  Is  sewage  just  a  medium  of  contagion,  or  is  it  true 
thou  art  indigenous  to  it? 

Mic.  (Ttvisting  on  its  nates.)  Too  dam  pragmatic, 
thou.  Me  own  affairs  are  private,  and  thou  bet  they'll  stay 
that  way. 

Leu.  (Aside.)  The  human  form  divine,  this  temple  of 
the  soul — it's  self-sufficiency  is  known.  No  enemy  hath  it 
within  it's  own  precincts.  Heredity  itself  belongs  to  its  en- 
vironment. If  these  bacilli  are  not  natives,  morbidly  de- 
formed, then  it  is  true  they're  from  without.  This  last  is 
reasonable  enough.  All  harms  reside  in  man's  environment. 
No  malady  arises  de  novo  within  this  sacred  tenement ;  the 
very  primal  cause  of  all  disease  is  ever  found  outside.  The 
first  effect,  therefore,  the  primal  lesion  is.  (To  Microbe.) 
Feel'st  thou  that  thou  a  primal  lesion  art? 

Mic.     Ale  ptomaines,  'tis  that  does  the  devilment. 

Leu.  There's  no  sin  in  believing  this :  a  man  may  so 
believe  and  get  to  heaven  at  last.  The  doctrine  may  be 
true.  What  then?  Is  such  refinement  more  than  learned 
ornament — than  pathologic  tapestry? 

Mic.  'Tis  diagnostic  science,  and  what,  without  the  path- 
alogic  picture,  shalt  thou  do?    Wot's  on  you,  anyhow? 

Leu.  (Aside.)  This  Mickie  know'th  no  more  than  do 
some  men.  (To  Microbe.)  Right  diagnosis — a  most  credit- 
able accomplishment  indeed — holdeth  not,  intrinsic'ly,  so 
much  as  e'en  the  echo  of  a  therapeutic  hint.  Can'st  tell  me 
why  it  should  ? 


223  The  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

Mic.     I  can'st,  but  then  I  shan'st. 

Leu.  It  hath  become  the  mode  of  ultra  upness  to  con- 
temn whatever  smacks  of  the  empirical.  This,  in  forgetful- 
ness  of  the  prime  fact  that  rational  empiricism  is  the  heart 
of  and  soul  of  Medicine.  The  strenuous  assertiveness  of 
the  deductive  habit  'tis,  that  drives  men  out  tangentially  to 
common  sense  in  things  medicinal.  And  too,  there  is  a  pride 
vocational  which  quick  resents  impingements  'gainst  the 
scientific  dignity  of  Medicine.  So,  not  unlike  the  irrepres- 
sible perpetual  motion  crank,  a  class  chase  closet  phantoms 
whose  remedial  incidence  inheres  in  isopathic  dreamery. 
The  point  of  the  Jennerian  accident  hath  set  strange  wheels 
a  turning  in  some  heads,  and  they  are  cogging  out  such 
fell  fatuities  as  stagger  sane  credulity.  'Tis  something 
marvelous,  but  tog  a  physiologic  outrage  out  in  the  far 
Achean  gauze  of  cryptographic  phrase,  and  it  becomes  re- 
spectable. To  squirt  a  deadly  ferment  in  one's  boll — that 
shocks.  But  trim  the  thought  in  euohemistic  baubles,  and 
'twill  win — with  some. 

Mic.     Thou  art  an  ass  without  recourse. 

Leu.  (Aside.)  The  ass's  argument.  (To  Alicrobe.) 
Small  as  thou  art,  thou  art  a  large,  and  all-pervading  fact. 
Whether  thou  cuttest  any  figure  in  disease,  or  not,  can  make 
no  therapeutic  difference.  Since  vaccination  but  results  in 
much  reduced  small-pox,  conferring  thus  perhaps,  immunity 
from  the  disease,  by  all  the  logic  of  analogy,  thou  never 
could'st  do  more.  'Tis  proven  that  thou  dost  not  even  that. 
Now,  who  shall  vaccinate  to  cure  small-pox?  And  yet,  'tis 
this — its  principle  decked  out  in  iridescent  wordery — that's 
fatt'ning  grave-yards  and  the  purses  of  lymph  manufactur- 
ers. 

Mic.     Forget'st  thou,  chump,  I  have  the  drop  on  thee? 

Leu.  The  drop,  the  drop;  thou'lt  soon  lose  e'en  the 
virtue  of  a  drop,  deep  in  oblivion. 

Mic.  Ha,  ha!  me  incandescent  inwardness  doth  churn 
in  bloody  glee.    Prepare  for  death.    Dost  pray  ? 

Leu.  (Striking  a  tragic  attitude,  and  pointing  at  the 
Microbe  a  finger  no  less  vesicatory  for  being  metaphorical) 


A  CHILD'S  JUDGMENT  229 

— Oh,  thou  tenebral  speck  of  foul  negation ;  thou  blasted 
histogenic  exiguity ;  thou  blasted  mite  cylindric — the  gall 
of  thee!  Yes,  I  do  prey,  and  thou  shalt  be  the  subject  of 
my  prayer.  (Blue  light  and  slon',  spectral  music,  as  the 
Leucocyte  szi'allows  the  Microbe). 

Leu.     (Stepping  to  the  front.)     'Tis  thus  that  Lympho- 
mania  shall  recede  into  the  gulf  of  dark  forgottenness. 
(Curtain  Falls.) 

W.  C.  Cooper,  M.  D. 


A  CHILD'S  JUDGMENT 

A  chance  shot  had  pierced  a  noisy  little  sparrow,  who  flut- 
tered and  staggered,  and  dropped  a  lifeless,  fluffy  heap  just 
in  front  of  where  our  little  four-year-old  boy  was  stand- 
ing. Quickly  picking  it  up  before  his  big  dog  Rover  could 
get  it,  he  turned  the  feathery  morsel  over  in  his  hand, 
smoothed,  and  tried  to  coax  it  back  to  life  again. 

Unseen  by  him  we  watched  the  workings  of  his  baby 
face,  which  had  become  so  serious,  that  we  were  about  to 
throw  open  the  window  and  speak  to  him,  when  he  turned 
and  walked  with  childish  dignity  down  the  path,  across  the 
broad  street,  and  up  the  flight  of  steps  leading  to  our  good 
friend  and  physician's  door.  We  noted  his  upraised  hand, 
his  pounding  upon  the  door-way,  its  opening,  and  his  passing 
in  beyond  our  vision. 

As  soon  as  his  familiar  war-whoop  and  the  bark  of  his 
dog  was  heard  again,  we  went  over  to  the  doctor's  and  met 
him  half  way  as  he  was  coming  to  us.  His  kindly  face  had 
that  queer  look  of  half-amusement  and  whole  earnestness 
that  held  us  quiet  and  we  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

"I  happened  to  be  busy  in  my  study,"  he  said,  when  the 
door  quietly  opened,  and  your  little  boy  stood  in  front  of 
me,  holding  out  in  his  tiny  hand  a  dead  sparrow.  'Well,'  I 
said,  'Wentie,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?' 

"  'Undead  this  sparrow,'  he  replied. 

"  'I  cannot  do  that,'  I  answered. 


230  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"  'Doctor,  can't  you  dead  a  sparrow  ?' 

"  'Yes,  Wentie.' 

"  'And  can't  yon  undead  a  sparrow  ?' 

"  'No,  my  little  boy,  I  cannot.' 

"  'Well,'  he  said,  as  his  face  grew  red,  and  his  eyes  very 
bright,  'well,  Dr.  Baker,  I  don't  think  you  are  very  much 
of  a  doctor,  anyway !'  and  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  me, 
startled  and  rebuked,  feeling  what  he  had  said  in  his  childish 
wisdom  was  true,  and — that  I  wasn't  much  of  a  doctor  after 
aU." 

RoREBT  Mitchell  Floyd. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  NARROW  ESCAPE 

"I  have  always  insisted,"  she  said,  after  a  long,  sweet 
silence,  that  I  would  never  marry  a  doctor  or  a  preacher." 

He  turned  pale  and  a  look  of  despair  crept  into  his  eyes. 

"Arthur,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  is  the  matter?" 

With  a  heaving  sigh  he  answered : 

"Can't  I  induce  you  to  overcome  your  prejudice?  Ah, 
tell  me,  tell  me  that  your  decision  against  doctors  and  preach- 
ers is  not  irrevocable." 

Six  weeks  before,  she  had  written  a  message  on  an  egg 
and  sent  it  out  into  the  world.  The  frail  messenger  had 
fallen  into  Arthur  Higgleson's  hands,  and  there  they  were 
sitting  on  the  baggage  truck  at  the  railway  station,  waiting 
for  the  hack  which  they  had  missed,  to  return  from  town, 
and  convey  them  to  the  hotel  where  they  had  planned  to  be 
married. 

She  looked  up  into  his  eyes  with  a  wild  yearning  and 
cried : 

"Are  you  a  preacher?" 

"No,"  he  groaned,  "not  that — not  that." 

"Oh,  tell  me,  tell  me,"  she  wailed,  "that  you  are  not  a 
doctor !" 

He  hung  his  head.  There  was  a  guilty  look  in  his  eyes 
and  she  knew  that  the  worst  had  come. 


PA  ON  THE  MICROBE  QUESTION  231 

At  last,  pulling  himself  together  with  a  mighty  effort,  he 
turned  to  her  and  said : 

"Yes,  Emeline.  You  have  guessed  the  truth.  I  am  a 
doctor.  But  why  should  that  matter?  Why  do  you  dis- 
criminate against  preachers  and  doctors?" 

"Because  they  have  to  be  among  women  so  much,"  she 
sadly  replied.    "I  should  want  my  husband  all  to  myself." 

"Love,"  he  cried,  "then  we  may  still  be  happy.  I  am  a 
horse  doctor." 


PA  ON  THE  MICROBE  QUESTION 

Maw  was  Looking  at  the  paper  the  other  Nite  after  she 
got  paw  to  Hold  the  Baby  for  a  little  while,  and  Every  few 
minutes  he  Would  haft  to  fix  it  all  Over  again  becoz  its 
feats  would  come  out,  and  pritty  soon  she  says : 

"What's  all  this  about  microbes?  A  purson  Can't  take 
up  a  paper  Enny  more  but  what  They  find  sumthing  about 
microbes." 

"Here,  hold  this  Child,"  paw  says,  Like  if  he  was  pritty 
glad  for  the  chance,  "and  I'll  tell  you.  Microbes  is  one  of 
the  new  Discuveries.  They  have  microbes  for  Neerly  every- 
thing now.  They  are  yellow-fever  microbes  and  measle 
microbes  and  consumption  microbes  and  mumps  microbes. 
They  say  a  purson  is  nothing  But  a  Lot  of  Different  kinds 
of  microbes  that  keep  declaring  war  Against  one  another 
Like  people,  and  the  ones  that  do  the  Best  fighting  and 
have  the  most  men  on  their  Side  make  a  man  what  he  hap- 
pens to  Be.  If  he  has  a  Fever  he  knows  his  Fever  microbes 
have  the  Largest  population  in  him,  and  if  he  wants  to  Go 
out  and  shoot  it  Shows  the  Kentuckie  microbes  are  Flocking 
all  thru  his  sistum  and  making  his  Other  microbes  get  Be- 
hind kopjes  and  things." 

"I  don't  beleave,"  maw  sed,  "that  they  are  enny  truth  in 
such  a  Theeory.'' 

"That    onlv    shows    vou    Don't    no    Ennvthing    About 


232  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

Syunce,"  paw  told  Her.  "If  you  would  keep  posted  Like 
I  do  you  wouldn't  sit  there  with  a  Disgusted  look  on  Your 
fais  and  say  You  didn't  Beleave  what  the  people  that  Dis- 
cover things  are  Doing  to  make  men  Happy." 

"I  don't  see  how  it  will  Make  a  man  happy  to  Find  Out 
that  he  is  nothing  but  a  crowd  of  microbes  that  mebby  Have 
him  Divided  up  into  Counties  and  Building  Lots  with  his 
Nose  for  a  Court  house  and  his  whiskers  for  a  park,"  maw 
sed. 

"Of  corse  you  don't,"  paw  says.  "That's  becoz  you  Don't 
understand  the  Grate  principle  and  Can't  look  ahed.  It 
takes  a  man  to  See  these  things.  As  fast  as  Every  different 
Kind  of  a  microbe  is  Discuvered  Syunce  goes  to  Work  to  i^nd 
Out  how  to  Raise  Blooded  microbes  and  What'll  Kill  the  Bad 
ones  without  hurting  the  Other  microbes  that  are  Trying  to 
Lead  a  Blameless  life.  After  that's  Done  the  hewman  race 
Will  be  Grate  peepul.  Everything  a  man  does  is  On  account 
of  his  Microbes.  If  he  writes  poetry  it's  Becoz  he  has  more 
poetry  microbes  in  him  than  Enny  other  kind.  If  he  Gets 
in  Love  it  shows  the  love  microbe  drove  all  Other  microbes 
Down  from  his  Spion  Kop.  That's  where  it'll  come  in 
handy  when  syunce  gets  the  microbe  bizness  all  fixed  up  like 
it  will  be  Sum  day." 

"What  will  happen  then  ?"  maw  ast. 

"Why,"  Paw  told  her,  "instead  of  Keeping  medasuns  the 
Drug  stores  will  have  microbes  to  Sell.  When  a  man  wants 
a  girl  to  Love  him  he  will  get  Ten  cents  Worth  of  Love 
microbes  and  put  them  in  her  Caramulz  and  the  first  thing 
you  no  She  will  think  he  is  a  Nappollo  Belvy  Dearie  with 
close  on.  Or  if  a  man  thinks  things  are  all  going  rong  and 
Life  ain't  hardly  worth  Living  Enny  more  he  can  go  to 
the  drug  store  and  say,  'Gimme  a  dose  of  your  best  Hope 
microbes,'  and  a  few  minutes  after  that  he  will  begin  to 
Think  this  is  the  pleasantest  world  he  Ever  got  into  and 
quit  sitting  Around  recitun  the  man  With  the  hoe  to  him- 
self. Then  they  will  have  microbes  to  make  men  generals 
and  Statesmun,  and  if  they  find  Out  what  Kind  of  microbes 
Carniggy  and  Rockeyfellow  and  J.  Pierpont  Morgan  are  full 


THE  UNGRATEFUL  BAKER  233 

of  they  can  raise  that  Brand  and  Put  them  within  the  reach 
of  Awl,  and  nobuddy  won't  haft  to  work  Enny  more." 

"My,  oh,  my,"  maw  Says,  "it's  perfickly  wonderful  what 
Syunce  keeps  doing,  and  This  is  a  BewtifuU  theeory,  but 
they'll  never  get  it  thru." 

"Why  not  ?"  paw  ast. 

"Becoz,"  maw  says,  "if  peeple  Could  all  be  made  happy 
by  Using  the  rite  Kind  of  microbes  they  wouldn't  Ever  hav 
to  drink  stuff  to  Get  cheered  up,  and  that  would  interfear 
with  the  Saloon  Bizness.  They  Are  no  use  Ever  trying  to 
get  Ennything  the  Saloon  vote  is  against." 

"By  Henry  I"  paw  says ;  "I  never  thot  of  That." 

Georgie. 


THE  UNGRATEFUL  BAKER 

Surgeons  and  physicians  in  the  United  States  are  now 
and  then  sued  for  malpractice  by  dissatisfied  patients.  Not 
unfrequently  the  suit  is  an  attempt  either  to  extort  money 
from  the  practitioner  or  to  fine  him  for  not  curing  an  incur- 
able. In  Persia  patients  are  still  more  unscrupulous  and 
try  to  get  back  the  doctor's  fee,  even  when  he  has  cured 
them.  Dr.  Wills,  an  English  physician,  tells  in  his  "Land 
of  the  Lion  and  Sun,"  his  experience  with  a  Persian  patient, 
a  well-to-do  baker  of  Ispahan. 

The  baker  had  been  successfully  operated  upon  for 
cataract,  and  the  doctor  had  been  paid  four  pounds ;  but 
the  baker,  though  seeing  with  both  eyes,  regretted  the  four 
pounds.  One  day  while  the  doctor  was  prescribing  in  the 
dispensary  to  a  crowd  of  sick  folks,  a  melancholy  procession 
entered.  The  baker,  with  a  rag  of  different  color  over  each 
eye  and  a  large  white  bandage  round  his  head,  was  sup- 
ported into  the  room. 

The  relatives  informed  the  doctor  that  through  his  treat- 
ment, the  baker  had  lost  his  sight,  and  had  come  back  to 
get  his  four  pounds,  together  with  any  compensation  which 
he,  the  doctor,  might  be  pleased  to  make. 

"Ah,  sahib,  dear  sahib,  I  am  now  stone  blind,"  said  the 


234  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

baker.  The  crowd  shook  their  heads.  With  much  difficulty 
the  doctor  compelled  the  removal  of  the  bandages,  and  look- 
ing at  his  eyes  saw  that  the  man's  vision  was  good.  ThougK 
angry  he  was  civil.  The  point  was  to  make  the  crowd  see 
that  the  man  could  see. 

Taking  a  large  leather  box,  in  which  was  an  amputating 
knife,  he  placed  it  on  the  table.  Then  seating  himself, 
with  the  man  on  the  other  side  of  the  table,  he  said : 

"Of  course,  if  I  have  deprived  you  of  your  sight,  it  is 
only  fair  that  I  should  return  the  money  you  have  paid  me, 
and  also  renumerate  you.    How  much  do  you  want?" 

A  beautiful  smile  spread  over  the  baker's  face,  as  he 
answered : 

"O  sahib,  doctor  sahib,  I  know  you  are  great  and  generous. 
If  you  will  pay  back  the  four  pounds  and  give  me  forty, 
pounds  for  my  eyes  I  should  pray  for  you — yes,  I  and  my 
family,  we  should  all  pray  for  you." 

"Yes,  yes,  he  has  spoken  well,"  chimed  in  the  spectators. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  doctor,  "this  is  what  ought  to  be  done 
in  the  case  you  describe.  But" — and  the  doctor  shouted — 
"what  ought  to  be  done  to  the  man  who  comes  here  with  a 
lie  in  his  mouth?  Know  you,  bystanders,  that  this  man  sees 
perfectly  ?" 

"Ah,"  continued  the  doctor,  "you  dog,  I'll  open  your 
eyes !"  and  suddenly  producing  the  amputating  knife  he 
flashed  it  before  the  man's  face.  The  baker  fled  down  stairs, 
pursued  by  the  more  active  of  the  crowd. 

"Stop  thief!"  they  shouted. 

Every  idler  in  the  bazar  took  up  the  cry ;  every  hand  and 
stick  were  turned  on  the  flying  man.  He  was  seized  and 
his  turban  torn  oS. 

"Can  you  see  now  ?"  asked  the  doctor  from  an  open 
window. 

"O  sahib,  sahib,  through  your  kindness  I  see ;  indeed 
I  do!" 


CONVALESCENT 

Once  more  the  rapture  of  the  wind  and  rain, 

And  rich  scent  of  the  warm,  damp,  broken  moid ; 
And  I — who  never  thought  to  see  again 

The  white  snow  leave  the  fallow  and  the  fold, 
Or  the  dark  rook  wheel  elm-ward  to  her  bower — 
Am  out  before  the  first  white  lily  flower, 
And  long  before  the  summer  and  the  bee  ; 
While,  like  a  dim,  far  distant  dream  to  me, 
Behind  the  curtain-shadow  of  my  bed. 
Death  calls  his  hounds  to  leash,  discomfited. 

Will  H.  Ogilvie. 


335 


The  Stork  Brought  It 


^t^^'^^," 

-*^"^>j 


GENERAL  AVERAGE 

THE  DOCTORS  ARE  OUR  FRIENDS ;  LET'S 
PLEASE  THEM  WELL. 

—BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER. 


337 


GENERAL  AVERAGE 

TO  THE  DOCTOR'S  INTENDED 

"So  you  are  engaged  to  Dr.  B — .  It  must  be  very  nice 
to  be  engaged  to  a  doctor.  Every  time  he  calls,  you  know 
— and  of  course  that  must  be  very  often — you  feel  as  if 
you  were  getting  for  nothing  what  everybody  else  would 
pay  three  dollars  for." 


SHE  WAS  TAKING  NO  CHANCES 

She  had  been  suffering  for  several  days  with  a  slight  ab- 
scess, and  when  she  decided  to  have  it  lanced  her  young 
husband  accompanied  her  to  the  physician's. 

"You  are  very  brave,  dearest,"  he  said  to  her,  as  they 
waited  for  the  doctor  in  the  reception  room. 

"Oh,"  said  she,  smiling  sweetly,  "you  see,  I'm  going  to 
take  chloroform  or  gas  or  something." 

"No!  Oh,  no!"  he  remonstrated.     "You  mustn't — " 

"Why,  Jack,  it  won't  cost  so  much  more." 

"Darling,  how  unkind!  But,  you  know,  sometimes  pa- 
tients die  under  chloroform." 

"I'll  risk  that.  Ah,  doctor,  my  husband  is  trying  to  scare 
me  with  tales  about  patients  who  die  under  chloroform. 
Now,  you  don't  think — " 

"Pshaw !  There's  no  danger  when  the  doctor  under- 
stands his  patient's  condition,"  exclaimed  the  physician. 
And  a  few  moments  later : 

"Will  you  kindly  take  hold  of  this  sponge?  By  the  way, 
just  before  you  came  in  I  was  administering  the  drug  to  a 
man,  and  he  was  quite  amusing.  He  rattled  on  about  his 
early  love  affairs — gave  himself  away  in  great  shape." 

"Oh !"  cried  the  young  woman  in  evident  distress.  Then, 
collecting  herself:    "Will  it  hurt  dreadfully,  doctor?" 

239 


240  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"The  lancing?    No;  with  the  drug  you  won't  be  any  the 
wiser." 

"I  think  I  can  manage  without  any  drug,  do  you  know  ?" 
"You  might  faint,  dearest,"  put  in  the  anxious  husband. 

"And   the    doctor   says   there's   no    danger   in   your    case. 

"You'd  better  take  it." 

"No,  I  think  not,"  said  she,  throwing  the  sponge  away 

and  sitting  bolt  upright.    "I'm  going  to  show  you  men  how 

a  weak  little  woman  can  bear  pain." 


STORY  OF  A  POULTICE 

Family  discipline  is  still  maintained  in  some  American 
homes,  as  of  course  it  ought  to  be  in  all. 

A  small  boy  got  a  sliver  in  his  foot,  and  his  mother  ex- 
pressed her  intention  of  putting  a  poultice  on  the  wound. 
The  boy  with  the  natural  foolishness  which  is  bound  up  in 
the  heart  of  a  child,  objected  to  the  proposed  remedy.  "I 
won't  have  any  poultice,"  he  declared.  "Yes,  you  will," 
said  both  mother  and  grandmother  firmly.  The  majority 
was  two  to  one  against  him,  and  at  bed  time  the  poultice 
was  ready.  The  patient  was  not  ready ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  resisted  so  stoutly  that  a  switch  was  brought  into  requi- 
sition. It  was  arranged  that  the  grandmother  should  apply 
the  poultice,  while  the  mother  with  uplifted  stick  would 
stand  at  the  bedside.  The  boy  was  told  that  if  he  "opened 
his  mouth,"  he  would  receive  something  that  would  keep 
him  quiet.  The  hot  poultice  touched  his  foot  and  he  opened 
his  mouth.  "You — "  he  began.  "Keep  still,"  said  his  mother, 
shaking  her  stick,  while  the  grandmother  applied  the  poul- 
tice. Once  more  the  little  fellow  opened  his  mouth.  "I — " 
But  the  uplifted  stick  awed  him  into  silence.  In  a  minute 
more  the  poultice  was  firmly  in  place  and  the  boy  tucked  in 
bed.  "There,  now,"  said  his  mother,  "the  old  sliver  will  be 
drawn  out  and  Eddie's  foot  will  be  all  well."  The  mother 
and  grandmother  were  moving  triumphantly  away,  when  a 
shrill  voice  piped   from  under  the  bedclothes : 

"You've  got  it  on  the  wrong  foot." 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  241 

THE  ARMY  BABY'S  PERIL 

The  following  story  is  told  of  an  incident  that  occurred 
when  the  full-blown  rank  of  the  army  doctor  was  still  a 
novelty.  The  wife  of  Captain  De  Smythe,  whose  baby  was 
in  the  throes  of  teething,  wrote  to  the  garrison  doctor  as 
follows : 

"Dear  Doctor  Philgrave — I  should  be  glad  if  you  could 
come  around  and  see  my  baby  this  afternoon,  as  the  poor 
darling  is  having  a  good  deal  of  trouble  with  his  teeth. 
Yours  very  truly,  Angelina  De  Smythe.  P.  S.  Please  bring 
your  lancet." 

She  received  in  reply  the  following  letter : 

"Colonel  Philgrave  presents  his  compliments  to  Mrs.  De 
Smythe,  and  begs  to  inform  her  that  he  cannot  regard  any 
communication  addressed  to  Dr.  Philgrave  as  intended  for 
himself." 

Whereupon  the  lady,  meekly  accepting  the  rebuke  of  her 
breach  of  etiquette,  sat  down  and  wrote  her  letter,  word 
for  word,  over  again,  but  beginning  "Dear  Col.  Philgrave." 
When,  however,  she  arrived  at  the  postscript,  she  felt  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  delicacy  about  mentioning  anything  so  es- 
sentially unmilitary  as  a  lancet,  and  so  when  the  gallant 
colonel  received  the  revised  note  he  found  that  the  P.  S.  ran : 
"Please  bring  your  sword." 


WANTED   HIS   TEMPERATURE 

One  of  the  operators  in  a  central  exchange  office  was  in- 
structed to  ring  up  the  Weather  Bureau  and  get  the  tem- 
perature of  the  day.  The  operator  looked  up  the  number, 
rang  the  bell,  and  after  the  usual  "hellos"  were  exchanged, 
said: 

"Temperature,  please." 

"What?"  came  in  a  tone  of  surprise  from  the  other  end 
of  the  wire. 

"Temperature !"  repeated  the  operator.  "T-e-m-p-e-r-a- 
t-u-r-e !     What's  your  temperature  today  ?" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  "WTio's  speaking?" 


242  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

from  the  Weather  Bureau  end.  The  operator  told  him,  and 
again  asked  for  the  temperature. 

"Good  heavens,  girl,  what  do  you  want  my  temperature 
for?"  was  the  response. 

"What's  your  number?"  asked  Central.  When  she  had 
heard  it  she  murmured  a  feeble  apology  and  rang  off.  It 
wasn't  the  Weather  Bureau. 


TROUBLE  ENOUGH 

The  doctor  on  opening  the  door  of  his  reception-room  to 
summon  the  patient  next  in  turn,  was  greeted  by  a  boy  of 
about  seven  years  of  age,  who  explained  that  his  mamma 
had  sent  him  over  to  be  cured.  Inquiry  elicited  the  infor- 
mation that  "Mamma"  was  one  of  the  doctor's  oldest  pa- 
tients. 

"Well,  my  boy,  what  am  I  to  cure  you  of?"  he  asked. 

"Why,"  was  the  explanation,  "bof  of  my  eyes  is  rainin' 
and  one  of  my  noses  won't  go." 


OBSERVING  YOUTH 

Children  are  quick  at  imitation,  and  have  a  talent  for 
making  up  games  in  which  they  cleverly  burlesque  their 
elders.  This  little  fellow  had  been  an  apt  pupil  in  the  sick 
room  and  understood  methods  of  procedure. 

One  day  two  bright  little  children  were  found  playing 
"doctor."  The  youngest  child  was  the  patient,  with  head 
wrapped  in  a  towel,  and  the  older,  the  physician,  with  a  silk 
hat  and  cane.  The  mother,  unseen  by  the  little  ones,  lis- 
tened at  the  doorway. 

"I  feel  awful  bad,"  said  the  patient. 

"We'll  fix  all  that,"  said  the  doctor,  briskly.  "Lemme 
see  your  tongue." 

Out  came  the  red  indicator. 

"Hum !  Hum !  Coated !"  said  the  doctor,  looking  very 
grave  indeed. 

Then,  without  a  word  of  warning,  the  skilled  physician 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  243 

hauled  off  and  gave  the  patient  a  smart  rap  in  the  region  of 
the  ribs. 

"Ouch !"  said  the  sufferer. 

"Feel  any  pain  there?"  inquired  the  doctor. 

"Yes,"  said  the  patient. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  the  healer.    "How's  the  other  side?" 

"It's  all  right,"  said  the  patient,  edging  away. 

Thereupon  the  doctor  produced  a  small  bottle  filled  with 
what  looked  like  either  bread  or  mud  pills,  and  placed  it 
on  the  table. 

"Take  one  of  these  pellets,"  the  physician  said,  "dissolved 
in  water,  every  seventeen  minutes — al-ter-nit-ly." 

"How  long  mus'  I  take  em  ?"  groaned  the  patient. 

"Till  you  die,"  said  the  doctor.    "Good  morning!" 


HOW  HE  FOUND  OUT  ABOUT  HIMSELF 

"If  you  want  to  know  how  few  chances  you  have  of  liv- 
ing, even  to  middle  age,"  declared  a  young  man,  who  is 
just  emerging  from  the  carelessness  of  youth  into  realiza- 
tion that  life  holds  serious  things,  "if  you  want  to  know 
how  near  dead  you  are,  just  start  to  take  out  a  life  insur- 
ance policy." 

"What  do  you  know  about  life  insurance?"  asked  his 
friend  ?  "You  are  the  picture  of  health  and  have  not  a  single 
dependent  heir." 

"Always  thought  I  was  a  perfect  man,"  continued  the 
young  man,  a  little  more  seriously.  "Have  not  been  sick 
in  bed  a  day  since  I  was  ten  years  old.  But  if  you  knew 
all  the  things  that  are  the  matter  with  me  you  would  won- 
der that  I  am  walking  around." 

"Then  the  company  rejected  you  1"  exclaimed  the  other. 
"Poor  boy!  I'm  sorry  for  you.  If  you  die  now  it  will  be 
without  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  you  are  costing 
the  life  insurance  company  money." 

"But  this  is  the  funny  part  of  it,"  he  went  on  when  he 
got  a  chance.     "They  didn't  reject  me." 

"What's  the  row,  then." 


244  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"Well,  after  the  medical  examination,  the  agent  came  to 
me  with  a  long  face  and  said  that  he  was  sorry  for  me. 
'If  you  don't  mend  your  ways  and  mind  the  corners,  you'll 
be  dead  within  a  year,'  he  said,  and  his  face  was  like  an 
undertaker's.  I  laughed  at  him  and  then  he  whipped  out 
the  doctor's  report.  It  seemed  to  prove  me  a  physical 
wreck,  and  really  I  ought  to  be  dead,  but  I  felt  so  partic- 
ularly fine  that  morning,  that  I  just  laughed  again.  Then 
he  whipped  out  my  policy. 

"  'You  took  this  out  as  an  endowment,'  he  said,  'but  don't 
you  think  you'd  better  look  around  for  an  heir?  It's  well, 
when  one  is  as  badly  off  as  you  are,  to  have  some  one  to 
leave  it  to.'  That  rather  shook  me  up  a  bit  and  set  me 
thinking.  The  nearest  living  relative  I  have  is  an  aunt, 
father's  sister,  who  has  more  money  than  I  can  think  about. 
I  thought  about  several  charities,  but  there  was  nothing 
in  which  I  had  a  particular  interest. 

"The  agent  interrupted  my  thoughts  with  more  advice. 
'You'd  better  take  out  $5,000  more  while  you  can  get  it,'  he 
said. 

"  'But  if  I'm  likely  to  die  within  a  year  it  is  hardly  fair 
to  the  company,'  I  reminded  him.  Then  I  grabbed  my  pol- 
icy and  escaped,  feeling  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  that 
my  heart  was  weak,  my  kidneys  worn  out  and  my  liver 
going. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  heart,  my  boy?"  asked  the 
friend,  who  by  this  time  did  not  know  whether  to  laugh 
or  sympathize. 

"Murmurs,  murmurs,  murmurs,"  replied  the  man  who  had 
taken  insurance.  "It  does  all  sorts  of  irregular  things,  ac- 
cording to  the  doctor,  and  it's  liable  to  send  me  off  on 
about  ten  beats  and  a  murmur  notice." 

"Is  that  all  you're  fussing  about?"  said  the  other.  "There 
is  nothing  in  that  heart-listening  business.  I  have  a  doctor 
friend  who  has  charge  of  a  hospital  over  in  Boston.  For 
a  year  or  more  he  listened  to  the  heart  of  every  patient 
that  came  into  the  hospital  and  kept  a  careful  record.  Then 
if  the  patient  died  and  he  was  able  to  secure  permission, 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  345 

he  took  the  heart  out  and  examined  it.  He  discovered  that 
nine-tenths  of  the  hearts  which  showed  murmurs  on  the  first 
examination  were  in  a  strong  and  heahhy  condition,  and 
that  a  large  percentage  of  those  which  sounded  all  right 
were  seriously  affected  in  one  way  or  another.  So  cheer 
up,  my  boy ;  you're  not  dead  yet,  and  you  may  fool  the 
company  after  all." 


THE  NEW  MOTHER 

"Nurse,  has  the  baby  had  a  good  dose  of  castor  oil  ?" 

"Yes'm." 

"And  those  hypophosphites  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"And  the  magnesia?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"Did  you  put  a  poultice  on  his  back?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"And  a  cold  compress  on  his  chest?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"And  he's  no  better?" 

"No,  ma'am.' 

"How  strange !    I  guess  we'd  better  send  for  the  doctor." 


CARROTS— NOT   CLARET 

Not  long  ago  an  anxious  mother  brought  her  daughter 
to  see  a  famous  London  physician.  The  girl  was  suffering 
from  what  some  people  call  "general  lowness."  There  was 
nothing  much  the  matter  with  her,  but  she  was  pale  and 
listless,  and  did  not  care  about  doing  anything,  even  eat- 
ing. The  doctor,  after  due  consultation,  prescribed  for  her 
a  glass  of  claret  three  times  a  day  with  her  meals.  The 
mother  was  somewhat  deaf,  but,  apparently,  heard  all  he 
said,  and  bore  off  her  daughter,  determined  to  carry  out 
the  prescription  to  the  letter. 

In  two  weeks  she  was  back  with  her  girl,  who  was  rosy 
cheeked,  smiling  and  the  picture  of  health. 


246  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

The  doctor  naturally  congratulated  himself  on  his  skill, 
and  said  cordially :  "I  am  glad  to  see  your  daughter  is  so 
much  better." 

"Thanks  to  you,  Doctor,"  exclaimed  the  grateful  mother. 
"She  has  had  just  what  you  ordered.  She  has  eaten  carrots 
three  times  a  day,  and  sometimes  oftener — and  once  or 
twice  she  had  them  uncooked ;  and  now  look  at  her !" 


FATAL  FIGURE  OF  SPEECH 

Third  day  out. 

The  majestic  ship,  freighted  with  its  priceless  human 
cargo,  rolled  and  pitched  on  the  heaving  bosom  of  the  great 
deep. 

Still  pallid  and  wan,  but  hopeful,  and  feebly  trying  to 
smile,  the  young  woman  in  the  pale  green  gown  reclined  in 
the  steamer  chair. 

It  was  her  first  day  on  deck. 

"Now,  Clara,"  her  businesslike  aunt  said,  bustling  about, 
"you  are  so  much  better  that  you  must  try  to  think  up  some- 
thing to  amuse  yourself  with." 

"Think  up  something!"  moaned  the  poor  girl.  "O, 
alintie,  what  did  you  want  to  say  that  for!" 

And  she  collapsed  again. 


BAD  MEDICINE 


A  young  physician  who  had  long  worshiped  a  lady  at  a 
distance,  was  one  day  suddenly  called  to  attend  her.  He 
found  her  suffering  from  no  particularly  dangerous  malady, 
but  she  wanted  him  to  prescribe  for  her  nevertheless ;  so 
he  took  her  hand  and  said  impressively : 

"Well  I  should — prescribe — I  should  prescribe  that  you 
get  married." 

"Oh,  goodness,"  said  the  interesting  invalid,  "who  would 
marry  me,  I  wonder?" 

"I  would,"  snapped  the  doctor  with  all  the  voracity  of  a 
six-foot  pickerel. 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  247 

"You  ?"   exclaimed   the   maiden. 
"Yes." 

"Well,  doctor,  if  that  is  the  fearful  alternative,  you  may 
go  away  and  let  me  die  in  peace." 


WHERE  SHE'D  BE  VACCINATED 

Two  attractive-looking  young  women  in  an  English  street 
car  were  discussing  the  gravity  of  the  smallpox  epidemic, 
records  the  Philadelphia  Times. 

"Where  would  you  be  vaccinated?"  asked  one. 

At  least  two  pairs  of  male  ears  were  strained  for  the  an- 
swer. 

"Well,"  the  other  replied,  "that  depends.  Some  persons 
prefer  to  have  it  on  the  arm,  but — "  (Here  the  tension  was 
terrific)  "Til  be  vaccinated  on  Walnut  street,  where  my  doc- 
tor lives." 


HIS   CRITICAL  CASE 

"I  can  afford  to  laugh  at  it  now,"  said  the  portly  physi- 
cian, "but  I  was  mad  at  the  time.  One  day  last  week  I 
was  just  sitting  down  to  a  most  excellent  dinner  when  I 
received  a  call  from  a  little  five-year-old  girl  whose  father 
lives  in  the  adjoining  block.  She  was  out  of  breath,  but 
she  managed  to  gasp  out  for  me  to  come  up  to  the  house 
right  away. 

"Thinking  it  was  something  serious  that  would  cause 
the  little  girl  to  be  sent  for  me,  I  seized  my  medicine  case 
and  hurried  away. 

"Who  is  sick?"  I  asked  picking  her  up  in  my  arms  and 
carrying  her  so  that  I  might  get  along  faster. 

"  'Elizabeth,'  she  answered. 

"  Ts  she  very  sick  ?'  I  asked. 

"  T  think  it  is  typhoid  fever,'  she  replied. 

"This  gave  me  a  scare  and  quickened  my  steps.  We  were 
not  long  in  arriving  at  the  house,  and  I  was  surprised  that 
no  one  met  us. 


248  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"  'This  way,'  cried  tlic  little  girl,  seizing  hold  of  my  hand. 

"Allowing  myself  to  be  led  along,  I  soon  found  myself 
in  the  bed-room  by  the  side  of  a  doll's  cradle,  in  which  re- 
posed a  doll  with  a  red  rag  tied  around  its  throat. 

"I  was  dazed  for  a  moment,  and  came  to  only  by  hearing 
the  little  girl  inquiring  anxiously  if  I  thought  Elizabeth 
was  going  to  die. 

"I  assured  her  that  she  wasn't  and  all  that  she  needed 
was  a  spanking — I  meant  the  little  girl — not  Elizabeth.  But 
from  what  I  heard  when  I  left,  I  am  afraid  that  my  advice 
was  not  understood  and  that  Elizabeth  got  it." 


A  GREAT  INVALID 

There  lives  in  Chicago  a  lady  named  Mallaby,  whose 
sudden  illnesses  and  more  sudden  recoveries  are  the  cause 
of  wonder  among  her  many  friends.  The  doctor's  carriage 
stands  at  her  door  of  an  afternoon,  and  in  the  evening  she 
will  be  out  to  ball  or  party,  radiant  with  health  and  beauty. 

These  sudden  conversions  were  we,ll  hit  off  by  a  friend 
to  an  acquaintance  inquiring  after  Mrs.  Mallaby,  he  hav- 
ing heard  shortly  before,  that  she  was  very  ill.  "Oh  1"  said 
the  friend,  "she  is  bad — very  bad ;  she  wasn't  expected  to 
live  yesterday.  She  called  up  Mr.  Mallaby,  and  bade  him 
good-bye ;  called  up  the  children,  and  bade  them  good-bye ; 
called  up  John,  and  told  him  to  bring  the  carriage  to  the 
door;  and  in  half  an  hour  she  was  shopping  in  town!" 


HE  IS  TO   BE  PITIED 

"Who  is  that  sad,  disconsolate  looking  fellow?" 

"He  is  the  man  who  has  made  a  study  of  rules  of  health." 

"Whose  rules  of  health?" 

"Everybody's  rules  of  health.  That's  the  trouble  with 
him.     He's  been  trying  to  live  up  to  them." 

"What  does  he  do?" 

"Everything  that  he  is  told  to  do,  and  when  he  isn't  do- 
ing anything  else,  he  worries  because  the  rules  are  so  con- 
flicting." 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  245 

"And  it  is  undermining  his  health?" 

"Of  course.     It  would  undermine  any  one's  health." 

"What  are  some  of  the  rules?" 

"Well,  here  are  two  of  them:  'Eat  only  a  light  break- 
fast,' and  'Breakfast  should  be  the  best  meal  of  the  day.' " 

"What  are  some  of  the  others?" 

"  'Run  or  walk  two  miles  before  breakfast,'  and  'Never  at- 
tempt to  do  anything  on  an  empty  stomach.'  " 
•    "Any  more?" 

"  'Take  a  cold  bath  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,'  and 
'Remember  the  shock  to  the  system  of  suddenly  encounter- 
ing heat  or  cold  is  very  injurious.'  " 

"Anything  else?" 

"  'Never  use  a  pillow,'  and  'The  most  refreshing  sleep  is 
that  when  the  head  is  elevated.' " 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no !  There  are  hundreds  of  other  rules.  For 
instance :  'Do  not  get  into  the  habit  of  sleeping  in  the  day- 
time,' and  'Always  take  a  nap  in  the  afternoon ;'  'Eat  only 
at  meal  time,'  and  'Eat  whenever  you  are  hungry;'  'Eat 
no  meat,'  and  'If  you  would  be  strong  eat  plenty  of  fresh 
meat ;'  'Get  up  at  5  o'clock  every  morning,'  and  'Sleep  until 
thoroughly  rested,  no  matter  how  late  it  is.' " 

"I'm  not  surpised  that  he  looks  haggard  and  ill." 

"Neither  is  any  one  who  knows  what  he  is  trying  to  do." 


WHO  WAS  FOOLED? 

A  group  of  physicians  were  discussing  feigned  ailments, 
in  the  presence  of  a  Cincinnati  Commercial-Tribune  re- 
porter. Various  experiences  were  told.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  was  that  of  a  boy  of  14.  The  physician's  story 
was  as   follows : 

"I  was  called  to  see  this  boy,  and  was  told  that  he  had 
been  suffering  for  about  a  year  with  pains  in  his  right 
knee  and  ankle.  Two  physicians  had  prescribed  for  him 
at  different  times,  and  only  temporary  relief  was  afforded. 


2S0  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

I  examined  the  leg  carefully  and  couldn't  find  a  trace  of 
injur}'  or  disease. 

"After  a  little  talk  I  learned  that  his  pains,  which  pre- 
vented him  from  going  to  school,  did  not  prevent  him  from 
playing  ball.  'I  am  the  best  catcher  and  batter  of  the  Star 
Juniors,'  said  he,  and  I  at  once  made  up  my  mind  that  the 
Star  Juniors  would  be  short  of  a  good  player  for  awhile. 

"  'Your  son,'  said  I  to  his  parents,  'has  a  strained  tendon 
and  a  partial  dislocation  of  the  ankle  joint.  I  will  have  to 
put  a  plaster  cast  on  his  leg.' 

"Next  day  the  plaster  went  on,  and  after  three  days  the 
boy  declared  himself  well,  and  begged  that  it  be  taken  off. 
It  was  good  and  heavy,  but  I  declined  to  remove  it,  putting 
him  off  day  after  day. 

"After  three  weeks  had  elapsed  I  called  to  see  him,  and 
found  that  he  was  out.  One  of  his  playmates  informed  the 
parents  and  myself  that  he  was  busy  on  a  neighboring  lot 
playing  ball.  He  was  called  home  and  I  removed  the  band- 
age and  pocketed  a  nice  fee. 

"Years  passed.  One  night  I  was  seated  at  a  table  in  a 
local  summer  resort.  I  noticed  a  young  man  eyeing  me 
very  closely.    He  finally  came  over  to  our  table  and  asked 

if  I  was  Dr. .    I  replied  yes.     He  said :    'Don't  you 

remember  little  Georgie,  whose  leg  you  put  in  plaster? 
Well,  I  am  Georgie.  That's  my  wife  and  baby  over  there. 
Doc,  I  fooled  you  nice  that  time !" 


A  HEROIC  PHYSICIAN 

There  are  doctors  and  doctors,  but  one  of  the  most  in- 
telligent of  all  these  friends  of  humanity  was  one  who  had 
the  courage  recently  to  give  a  bit  of  advice  to  the  head  of 
a  family  not  many  miles  from  New  York.  The  head  of  the 
family  was  robust,  but  exacting,  healthy  but  irritable — in 
short,  a  veritable  Hector. 

"I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter  with  my  family.  Doc- 
tor," he  said,  "but  my  wife  is  nervous,  my  children  are  suf- 
fering from  something,   I  don't  know  what — in  fact,  the 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  251 

whole  house  is  upset.  Even  the  servants  seem  vacillating 
and  bordering  on  nervous  prostration." 

"I  think  it  would  be  all  right,"  said  the  Doctor,  "if  you 
would  take  a  six-months'  tour  of  Europe — alone." 

"I?"  cried  paterfamilias.  "The  only  well  member  of  the 
family  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor,  gravely.  "You  ought  to  travel — 
for  the  health  of  your  family." 


ANOTHER  CASE 

"After  diagnosing  your  wife's  case,  Mr.  Stocksanbonds, 
I  would  advise  a  European  trip." 

"But  if  I  pay  for  such  a  trip  I  shan't  be  able  to  pay  your 
bill.  Doctor." 

"Perhaps  on  second  thought,  I  had  better  made  a  more 
thorough  diagnosis  of  her  case." 


AN  UNTIMELY  TOAST 

Senator  Sullivan  of  New  York  was  recently  a  guest  at  a 
banquet  of  homeopathic  physicians.  During  the  banquet 
the  usual  toasts  were  drunk.  To  the  health  of  "the  ladies," 
of  "the  President,"  of  "Hahnemann,  the  father  of  home- 
opathy," and  a  half  dozen  other  persons  and  subjects,  glasses 
were  duly  drained,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  toast- 
master  remarked :  "Senator  Sullivan  has  not  been  heard 
from.  Senator  Sullivan  will  now  propose  a  toast."  The 
Senator  arose  and  beamed  upon  the  assemblage  of  physi- 
cians.   "I  propose,"  he  said,  "the  health  of  the  sick." 


MUNICIPAL  GUILT 
"Let  us  get  down  to  facts !     In  the  first  place,  you  have 
only  yourself  to  blame  for  this  indigestion." 
"No,  Doctor,  I  blame  the  city." 
"The  city?    What  has  it  to  do  with  it?" 
"It  put  a  homely  policeman  on  our  beat." 
"And  what  has  that  to  do  with  your  indigestion?" 
"Why,  we  couldn't  keep  a  cook." 


253  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

THE  DOCTOR'S  PRESENCE  OF  MIND 

"Speaking  of  doctors'  bills,"  said  Cooper,  as  he  elevated 
his  feet  and  lit  a  cigar,  "I  have  recently  had  revealed  to  me 
a  depth  of  nerve  which  I  supposed  was  possessed  only  by 
gas  men  and  plumbers.    You  know  young  Dr.  de  Ploma?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you  know  when  he  was  graduated  and  came  here 
to  practise  he  was  pretty  sweet  on  my  daughter  Grace  for 
awhile?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  one  roasting  day  last  Summer  she  met  him  down 
town  while  she  was  out  shopping,  and  he  asked  her  in  to 
have  a  glass  of  soda  water  at  Fizz  &  Foam's." 

"Very  nice." 

"Wait.  Little  while  after  that  he  popped,  and  Grace 
threw  him   over." 

"Poor  fellow!" 

"Yes.  Poor  fellow !  But  he  had  his  wits  about  him,  and 
yesterday  I  got  this  bill : 

James  Alfred  DePlom.\,  M.  D. 
Office  Hours, 
12:01  A.  M.  to  II  :59  P.  M. 
G.  Cooper,  Dr. 

July  4th.     To  Treating  Daughter $300 


AS  INSTRUCTED 

"Why  do  you  watch  the  thermometer  on  the  wall  so 
closely?"  queried  the  invalid. 

"Because,"  replied  the  untrained  nurse,  "the  doctor  said 
if  the  temperature  got  any  higher  to  give  you  another  dose 
of  quinine." 


A  BRIEF  CAREER 
"Too  bad  about  Jane  Gilroy,  isn't  it  ?" 
"What  was  it?    I  haven't  heard." 

"Spent  five  years  qualifying  for  a  trained  nurse  and  then 
married  her  first  patient." 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  253 

THE   ETERNAL   FEMININE 

Mrs.  Hewman. — I  never  saw  such  a  busybody.  Just  be- 
cause the  doctor  stopped  at  our  house  yesterday  she  imme- 
diately wanted  to  know  what  was  the  matter. 

Mrs.  Naycher. — Yes ;  I  wonder  how  she'd  hke  her  neigh- 
bors to  be  that  curious  about  her?  You  know  the  doctor 
stopped  at  her  house  today,  too. 

Mrs.  Hewman. — You  don't  say?  I  wonder  what's  the 
matter  there? 


A  GOOD  BEGINNING 

Doctor:     What  your  husband  really  wants,  madame,  is 
complete  rest.    Now,  if  you  could  only — 
Lady:     But  he  won't  listen  to  me,  doctor. 
Doctor:     Ah!  That's  a  very  good  beginning. 


SWAPPED   MEDICINE 

A  little  boy  was  suffering  from  a  severe  cold  and  his 
mother  gave  him  a  bottle  of  cough  mixture  to  take  while  at 
school.  On  his  return  she  asked  if  he  had  taken  his  med- 
icine. 

"No,"  he  answered,  "but  Bobby  Jones  did.  He  liked  it, 
so  I  swapped  it  with  him  for  a  handful  of  peanuts." 


OBEYING  INSTRUCTIONS 

Doctor  Brown — Well,  did  you  keep  the  thermometer  in 
the  room  at  70  degrees  as  I  told  you? 

Mrs.  Murphy — I  did,  indade.  Doctor,  but  I  had  a  hard 
toime  to  do  it.  The  only  place  it  would  stay  at  sivinty  was 
furninst  the  chimney-piece. 


HOPE  FOR  THE  BEST 

Doctor — I'm  afraid  your  wife  will  lose  her  voice. 
Enpec — Let  us  hope  for  the  best. 


254  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

HIS  CHANCE 

"Oh,  Doctor,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come.  My  little  girl  has 
such  a — " 

"Now  don't  tell  me  what  she  has,  Nellie,  'cos  I'm  the 
doctor,  an'  I've  got  to  try  an'  guess." 


THE  SURVIVOR 


When  the  doctors  tell  a  man  that  he  can't  get  well,  and 
he  does,  what  wonderful  will-power  he  thinks  he  has ! 


THE   DOCTOR'S  VINDICATION 

Mrs.  Browne — Oh,  it's  terrible !  Dr.  Sokum  has  com- 
mitted suicide ! 

Browne — Too  bad.  And  I  had  just  about  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  he  hadn't  any  conscience. 


AN  EXPERIMENT 

Bobby — Mamma,   would  it   make  any   difference   if   the 
baby  took  all  his  medicine  at  once? 

The   Baby's   Mother — Heavens!     Yes! 
Bobby — But  it  hasn't  made  any  difference! 


A  FAMILIAR  CONDITION 

Mrs.  Tredigar — How  is  Fred,  Doctor? 

Physician — Your  husband  is  in  a  critical  condition, 
madam. 

Mrs.  Tredigar — That's  just  like  him.  He's  always  find- 
ing fault. 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST 

Dr.  Bolus — And  how  are  you  enjoying  life,  my  dear? 

Miss  Gracie  Young — Oh,  not  very  well.  Doctor ;  you  see 
I'm  not  in  society  yet. 

Dr.  Bolus — Is  that  possible?  Why,  I  clearly  remember 
being  present  at  your  first  ball ! 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  2SS 

IT  WAS  NOT  LOOSE 

Doctor,  to  Gilbert  (aged  4) — Put  your  tongue  out,  dear. 
Sick  little  Gilbert  feebly  protruded  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 
Doctor — No,  no ;  put  it  right  out. 

The  little  fellow  shook  his  head  weakly,  and  the  tears 
gathered  in  his  eyes — 

I  can't  doctor ;  its  fastened  on  to  me. 


INFERIOR  GOODS 

Nurse. — Der  toctor  prought  him  lasd  night,  Shakey ! 
Jakey. — Veil  he  vas  foxy  1     He  neffer  could  get  rid  off 
a  paby  of  dot  quality  in  der  taytime ! 


A   MOTHER'S   HOPE 

"I  hope,  some  day,  to  see  my  daughter's  name  on  a  doc- 
tor's sign,"  said  the  match-making  mother. 

"Ah,  indeed !"  said  the  young  physician ;  "is  she  studying 
medicine  ?" 

"No ;  but  I  am  anxious  for  her  to  marry  a  doctor." 


WHAT  MARY  HAD 

Mary  had  a  little  lamb. 

Likewise  an  oyster  stew, 
Salad,  cake,  a  piece  of  pie, 

And  a  bottle  of  pale  brew- 
Then  a  few  hours  later 
She  had  a  doctor,  too. 


OUT  OF  DANGER 

"How  is  your  husband  feeling  this  morning,  Mrs.  Bent- 
ley?" 

"Oh,  Doctor,  I  don't  know.  He  swore  at  me,  and  threw 
a  teaspoon  at  the  baby  because  it  cried." 

"Ah,  favorable  symptoms !    He  is  getting  better." 


2S6  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

BOY  OR  GIRL? 

Dr.  Smiley. — Ah,  professor,  is  your  little  one  a  boy  or 
a  girl? 

Professor  Drexiey. — Why — er — yes.  We  call  it  John. 
It  must  be  a  bov,  I  think. 


REASONED  IT  OUT 

Mrs.  Cobwigger. — Yes,  Freddy,  the  doctor  brought  us 
the  new  baby. 

Freddy. — Say,  Ma!  Is  it  because  we  have  a  homeopathic 
doctor  that  the  kid  is  so  small  ? 


IT  LOOKED  SERIOUS 

Doctor. — "No,  no,  my  friend ;  you  are  not  going  to  die 
— far  from  it." 

Patient. — "Doctor,  do  not  deceive  me.  If  I  am  not  go- 
ing to  die  why  is  my  wife  so  cheerful?" 


THE  FATAL  BILL 

The  Doctor:    Here  I  carried  that  patient  through  a  des- 
perate sickness,  only  to — 

His  Wife:    Have  him  object  to  your  fee? 

The  Doctor:    No!    Drop  dead  when  he  saw  my  bill! 


A  DEFINITION 

Little  G.^len. — Papa,  what  is  a  convalescent? 
Dr.  Tombs. — A  convalescent,  my  son,  is  a  patient  who  is 
not  dead  yet. 


SEMI-SUCCESS 

"Tell  me,  Doctor ;  were  you  successful  with  that  patient 
on  the  next  block?" 

"Partially  so.  I  cured  him,  but  I  haven't  succeeded  in 
getting  any  money  out  of  him  yet." 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  257 

THE  PASTOR'S  POWER 

"You  never  can  tell  what  a  child  will  do  next,"  said  Dr. 
J.  R.  Palmer  in  an  address  at  Chautauqua. 

"A  little  girl  in  New  York  the  other  day  saw  an  adver- 
tisement in  the  paper,  which  she  worked  into  her  prayer  at 
night,  when  she  asked  the  dear  Lord  to  make  her  abso- 
lutely pure,  like  Blank's  Baking  Powder. 

"This  reminds  me  of  two  little  boys.  One  was  the  little 
son  of  a  lady  who  was  in  Dr.  Hurlbut's  church  before  he 
became  a  doctor.  The  little  fellow  swallowed  a  copper 
penny.  The  mother  was  greatly  frightened,  and  wanted  to 
send  for  a  physician.  'No,  no,'  said  the  other  little  boy, 
'don't  send  for  a  physician ;  send  for  the  pastor.  Papa  says 
he  can  get  money  out  of  anybody.'  " 


COULD  CURE  CONVALESCENCE 

Old  Dr.  A was  a  quack,  and  a  very  ignorant  one. 

On  one  occasion  he  was  called  by  mistake  to  attend  a  coun- 
cil of  physicians  in  a  critical  case.  After  considerable  dis- 
cussion the  opinion  was  expressed  by  one  that  the  patient 

was  convalescent.    When  it  came  Doctor  A 's  turn  to 

speak:  "Conzvlescoit!"  said  he;  "why  that's  nothing  se- 
rious ;  I  have  cured  convalescence  in  twenty-four  hours !" 


THE  DOCTOR 

A  tramp,  dirty  and  ragged  to  the  last  degree,  called  at  a 
house  on  the  door  of  which  was  a  doctor's  sign.  A  large, 
rather  masculine  looking  woman  opened  the  door. 

"Scuse  me,  lady,"  said  the  tramp,  "but  I  jist  called  to 
ask  if  the  doctor  had  any  old  clothes  he'd  let  me  have.  You 
see,  I'm  kind  o'  bad  off  fer  all  kinds  o'  clothes,  an'  I'd  be 
much  obleeged  fer  anything  the  doctor  could  let  me  have, 
an'  I  ain't  pertickler  as  to  the  fit." 

The  woman  smiled  and  made  reply: 

"I  am  the  doctor !'' 


2S8  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"Sufferin'  Moses!"  ejaculated  the  tramp,  as  he  made  a  bee 
line  for  the  gate. 

BEING  A  DOCTOR 

An  American  woman  asked  Conan  Doyle  one  day  why  he 
had  given  up  the  practice  of  medicine. 

"Because  the  work  was  too  hard,"  Doyle  answered. 

"Oh,  it  can't  be  hard  to  be  a  doctor,"  said  the  woman. 

"It  is  both  hard  and  unpleasant.  And  to  prove  it,"  said 
the  novelist,  "I'll  tell  you  about  my  first  case. 

"My  first  case  came  to  me  in  the  middle  of  the  night. 
It  was  Jaiuiary,  and  a  cold  rain  was  falling.  The  jangle 
of  the  doorbell  awoke  mc  from  a  sound  sleep,  and,  shiver- 
ing and  yawning,  I  put  my  head  out  of  the  window  and  said, 
'Who's  there?' 

"  'Doctor,'  said  a  voice,  'can  you  come  to  Peter  Smith's 
house  at  once?' 

"'What's  the  trouble?'  I  asked. 

"  'Smith's  youngest  girl  has  took  a  dose  of  laudanum 
in  mistake  for  paregoric,  and  we're  afraid  she'll  die.' 

"  'All  right ;  I'll  come,'  said  I. 

"I  dressed,  and  tramped  three  miles  through  the  cold  and 
the  rain  to  Smith's.  Twice,  on  the  way,  I  fell  on  the  icy 
pavement,  and  once  my  hat  blew  ofif,  and  in  the  darkness 
I  was  nearly  half  an  hour  finding  it.  I""inally,  though,  I 
reached  Smith's.  But  the  house  was  dark — shutters  all 
closed — not  a  light.  I  rang  the  bell.  No  answer.  But  at  last 
a  head  stuck  itself  gingerly  out  of  the  third  story  window. 

"  'Be  you  Dr.  Doyle?'  it  said. 

"  'Yes,'  said  I.     'Let  me  in.' 

"  'Oh,  no  need  to  come  in,  doctor,'  said  the  head.  'The 
child's  all  right  now.    Sleeping  very  quiet.' 

"'But  how  much  laudanum  did  you  give  it?'     said  I. 

"  'Only  two  drops,  doctor.  Not  enough  to  hurt  a  cat.  I 
guess  I'd  better  take  my  head  in  now.  The  night  air  is 
cold.    Good-night.     Sorry  to  have  troubled  you.' 

"I  buttoned  up  my  coat  and  turned  homeward,  trying 
as  best  I  could  to  stifle  my  mortification  and  anger.  But 
suddenly  the  window  was  raised  again,  and  the  voice  cried : 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  259 


«  f 


Doctor !     I  say,  doctor !' 
"I  hurried  back.    I  thought  the  child  had  suddenly  taken 
turn  for  the  worse.    'Well,  what  do  you  want?'  I  said. 
"The  voice  made  answer: 
"  'Ye  won't  charge  nothin'  for  this  visit,  will  ye?" 


EASILY  SWALLOWED 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  the  lady  meant,"  says  an  elderly 
physician,  "but  whatever  it  was,  she  meant  it  hard.  She 
came  to  my  office  last  Tuesday,  and  after  considering  her 
case,  I  wrote  a  prescription,  which  was  to  be  put  up  in 
capsules  of  very  large  size.  I  explained  the  why  and  where- 
fore of  this  to  her,  and  asked  her  if  she  could  swallow  any- 
thing so  big.     She  looked  at  me  in  an  acidulous  way. 

"'Swallow  it!'  she  said.  'Why  my  husband  belongs  to 
two  whist  clubs  and  more  lodges  than  you  can  count. 
Swallow  it !  Humph  1  I  reckon  I  haven't  been  married  ten 
years  without  learning  to  swallow  bigger  things  than  that.'  " 


A  SAFE  DIAGNOSIS 

President  Hadley  of  Yale  was  talking  to  a  group  of  1905 
men  about  examinations. 

"It  seldom  pays,"  said  President  Hadley,"  to  give  vague, 
general  answers ;  hoping  thus  to  hide  one's  ignorance  in  a 
kind  of  circumlocutory  obscurity,  for  teachers  are  too  wise 
to  be  taken  in  by  such  common  tricks.  Teachers,  in  fact, 
don't  regard  the  matter  as  does  a  physician  whom  I  heard 
about  the  other  day.  He  is  one  of  those  fashionable,  elegant, 
elderly  physicians  who  succeeded  through  manner  rather 
than  skill.  Finding  himself,  at  last,  growing  old,  he  en- 
gaged an  assistant.  He  made  it  his  business  to  watch  over 
the  assistant,  to  coach  him,  and  to  advise  him.  He  proposed 
to  make  of  the  young  man  a  successful  physician  after  his 
own  pattern. 

"One  day  there  came  a  summons  from  a  great  millionaire. 


26o  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

'You  will  make  this  call,'  said  the  old  man.  'If  you  do  well 
it  will  be  a  feather  in  your  cap.  Remember,  now,  on  enter- 
ing the  sick-room,  to  smile,  and  say — '  and  so  on,  directions 
and  advice,  for  a  half  hour.  'And  above  all,'  he  ended, 
'don't  commit  yourself  in  your  diagnosis.  Don't  above  all 
things  commit  yourself.' 

"The  young  man  made  the  call,  and  on  his  return  his 
chief  was  full  of  curiosity.  He  asked  this  question,  and  he 
asked  that.    Finally  he  said : 

"  'And  your  diagnosis?  How  did  you  succeed  with  your 
diagnosis  ?    Did  you  profit  by  my  advice  ?' 

"  'I  think  I  did,'  said  the  young  man,  'I  told  our  patient 
that  he  was  suffering  from  a  complication  of  liver,  stomach, 
heart,  lung,  and  brain  trouble.' 

"  'Good,'  said  the  other.    'No  chance  of  a  mistake  there.'  " 


TRIALS  OF  .^  DOCTOR 

"I  can  understand,"  said  the  Casual  Caller,  "why  a  physi- 
cian who  makes  a  specialty  of  attending  women,  feels  that 
he  is  entitled  to  demand  exceptionally  large  fees.  The 
nervous  strain  he  undergoes  is  simply  terrific.  His  life  is 
one  constant  series  of  surprises,  and  he  never  knows  just 
what  he  will  find  a  patient  doing  the  next  time  he  calls. 

"When  a  man  is  sick  there  is  something  tangible  the  matter 
with  him,  and  if  he  is  ordered  to  bed,  there  is  a  reasonable 
certainty  that  the  doctor  will  find  him  there  when  he  comes 
to  take  his  temperature  and  look  wise. 

"But  with  a  woman  it's  different.  He  is  called  to  see  her 
in  the  morning  and  he  finds  her  a  nervous  wreck.  She  has 
a  splitting  headache  and  a  fever,  and  her  bones  ache.  He 
tells  her  she  is  threatened  with  pneumonia  or  some  other  old 
thing,  gives  her  some  medicine  and  says  he  will  call  next 
day.  Then  perhaps  he  gets  worried  and  drops  in  again  later 
the  same  day,  only  to  find  her  out  in  the  kitchen  putting  up 
preserves.  You  never  can  tell  about  a  woman.  She  may 
have  nervous  prostration  in  the  morning  and  be  acting  as 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  261 

general  superintendent  of  a  church  sociable  in  the  afternoon. 
I  have  left  my  wife  in  such  a  condition  sometimes  that  I  have 
been  worried  about  her  all  day,  and  then  come  home  to  find 
that  she  has  gone  to  the  matinee.  I  knew  another  woman  in 
a  town  about  50  or  100  miles  from  Chicago,  who  would  have 
the  doctor  in  twice  a  day  for  three  or  four  days,  and  when  he 
called  on  the  fourth  or  fifth  day  he  would  find  that  she  had 
got  up  that  morning  and  gone  to  Chicago  for  a  two  days' 
shopping  excursion  that  would  be  enough  to  tire  out  a  horse. 
When  she  returned,  she  would  go  to  bed  again  and  send  for 
the  doctor.     That's  the  way  it  goes  all  the  time. 

"A  sick  man  is  at  least  half  way  reliable,  but  you  can't 
tell  anything  about  a  sick  woman,  and  the  man  who  makes  a 
specialty  of  looking  after  the  health  of  women  is  justified  in 
charging  a  good,  big  sum  for  the  jars  they  are  constantly 
giving  his  professional  self-esteem." 


HIS  FIRST  CIGAR 


Sir  Andrew  Clark  was  so  ardent  in  his  crusade  against 
overeating  and  overdrinking,  and  so  firm  in  his  belief  that  in 
a  large  majority  of  cases  diet  will  do  far  more  than  drugs, 
that  he  was  a  little  too  much  inclined  to  take  it  for  granted 
that  his  patients  were  self-indulgent  to  the  ruin  of  their 
health.  Among  the  many  anecdotes  to  which  his  views  gave 
rise,  the  following  is  one  of  the  most  amusing : 

A  patient  came  to  consult  him,  and  was  at  once  over- 
whelmed with  directions  on  the  subject  of  the  life  he  should 
lead  and  the  diet  to  which  he  should  adhere.  "Now,  re- 
member, only  one  glass  of  wine  at  each  meal,"  the  physician 
concluded,  "and  just  one  cigar  after  dinner  won't  hurt  you. 
Good  morning.     Be  sure  you  keep  strictly  to  the  one  cigar." 

"One  cigar!"  exclaimed  the  patient.     "But " 

"My  dear  sir,"  broke  in  Sir  Andrew,  somewhat  testily,  "I 
must  insist.  If  I  am  to  treat  you,  you  must  follow  my 
directions.  I  know  quite  well  you  will  find  it  hard,  but  it  is 
absolutelv  necessarv  for  vour  health." 


262  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

The  patient  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  "All  right.  Sir  Andrew  ; 
since  you  insist,  I  will  do  my  best.     Good-morning." 

He  went  his  way,  but  his  health  did  not  improve,  and  at 
the  end  of  a  few  weeks  he  returned  to  the  physician's  con- 
sulting-room. 

"No  better?"  asked  the  doctor,  surprised.  "But  have  you 
followed  all  my  directions?" 

"Absolutely,"  replied  the  visitor.  "I  must  admit  that  the 
cigar  was  rather  hard  work  at  first,  and  in  fact  made  me  feel 
very  ill,  but  I  soon  got  used  to  it,  and  now  I  rather  like  it." 

"Good  heavens !"  said  Sir  Andrew,  on  whom  the  truth 
dawned,  "do  you  mean  to  tell  me — " 

"Yes ;  I  had  never  smoked  before." 


THE  PUBLICITY  OF  IT 

"You  oughtn't  to  have  turned  me  down  that  way,  Luella," 
said  young  Spoonamore,  as  they  rode  home  from  the  swell 
party. 

"In  what  way?"  innocently  asked  Miss  Quickstep. 

"Kept  me  dancing  attendance  on  you  all  evening,  and 
when  I  tried  to  talk  to  you,  as  I  did  several  times,  you  turned 
your  back  on  me.  Is  that  the  way  all  young  women  treat 
the  men  they're  engaged  to  marry?" 

"Yes,  if  the  men  are  too  fresh." 

"Was  I  too  fresh?" 

"A  little,  dear." 

"Did  you  want  to  humiliate  me  before  all  those  people  ?" 

"O,  no,"  she  said  lightly.  "But  you  needed  the  treatment 
— or  suppose  we  call  it  operation — and  I  had  to  perform  the 
operation.     If  everybody  saw  it  I  couldn't  help  it." 

"So  you  call  it  an  operation,  do  you  ?"  he  said,  glaring  at 
her  in  the  darkness  of  the  carriage.  "Well,  it  was  more 
than  that!" 

"What  was  it?" 

"It  was  a  clinic!" 

And  thev  rode  home  in  silence. 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  263 

HER  OWN  SELECTION 

Her  name  was  Mrs.  Smiley,  and  she  wished  to  see  some 
tables.  The  dealer  in  old  furniture  led  the  way  through  his 
dingy  shop. 

"Here  is  a  very  pretty  affair  for  the  parlor,"  he  said, 
pointing  toward  a  center  table  with  gilded  legs. 

"Too  small,"  responded  Mrs.  Smiley.  "You  see  I  want 
something  large  enough  to  hold  a  case  of  mounted  birds  and 
a  stack  of  books." 

"Then  how  about  this  mahogany  wood  ?" 

"I  did  not  wish  a  round  table ;  but  how  much  is  this  table 
over  here?" 

"The  one  in  the  corner?" 

"Yes." 

"I  don't  think  you  want  that,"  and  the  dealer  smiled 
grimly. 

"I  asked  you  how  much  it  was  ?" 

"Twenty  dollars." 

"Well,  you  may  send  it  to  this  address.  I  have  an  elab- 
orate cloth  that  will  fit  it  exactly.     I  will  just  pay  you  now." 

"But  you  are  not  going  to  put  that  table  in  your  parlor 
—I—"   ' 

"Certainly!  Why  not?  It  is  a  little  worse  for  use,  but 
then  the  top  won't  show." 

"Madam,  that  table  is  a " 

"Do  you  wish  to  sell  it?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  if  you  insist  I'll  have " 

"Then  please  send  it  home  at  once." 

That  evening  when  her  husband  came  in,  he  found  her 
busily  engaged  in  loading  down  the  newly  purchased  table. 

"Oh,  Hen,"  she  greeted ;  "just  come  in  here  and  look  at 
the  table  I  bought  this  afternoon." 

She  noticed  that  he  gazed  strangely  at  her  purchase. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it,  Hen?" 

"Lift  the  cover  a  minute,  Em." 

She  obeyed. 

"Em,  do  you  know  what  kind  of  a  table  that  is?" 

"What?" 


264  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"A  dissecting  table.     Part  of  it  is  missing." 
With  a  scream  she  rushed  from  the  parlor.     The  dealer 
was  finally  persuaded  to  take  it  back  for  $io. 


THE  SCIENTIFIC  SPIRIT 

Andrew  Carnegie  admires  the  scientific  spirit — his  gener- 
ous gifts  to  science  are  a  proof  of  that.  Nevertheless,  to  his 
keen  humor  this  spirit  offers  itself  as  a  good  prey,  and  Mr. 
Carnegie  often  rails  very  wittily  at  scientists  and  their  pecu- 
liar ways. 

"The  late — the  late — but  I  won't  mention  the  poor  fellow's 
name,"  said  Mr.  Carnegie  at  a  scientists'  supper.  "The  late 
Blank,  as  he  lay  on  his  death-bed,  was  greeted  one  morning 
very  joyously  by  his  physician. 

"Poor  Blank's  eyes  lit  up  with  hope  at  sight  of  the  physi- 
cian's beaming  face.  There  had  been  a  consultation  on  his 
case  the  day  before.  Perhaps,  at  last,  the  remedy  to  cure 
him  had  been  found. 

"  'My  dear  Mr.  Blank,'  said  the  physician,  'I  congratulate 
you.' 

"Blank  smiled. 

"  T  shall  recover  ?'  he  said,  in  a  weak  voice  tremulous  with 
hope. 

"  'Well — er — not  exactly,'  said  the  physician.  'But  we 
believe  your  disease  to  be  entirely  novel  and  unique,  and,  if 
the  autopsy  demonstrates  this  to  be  true,  we  have  decided 
to  name  the  malady  after  you.'  " 


HE  NEARLY  BURST 

Dr.  William  Osier,  formerly  of  Johns  Hopkins,  advises 
about  the  importance  of  precision  in  the  writing  of  pre- 
scriptions. 

"Wherever  a  sentence  has  two  meanings,"  said  Dr.  Osier, 
"rest  assured  that  the  wrong  meaning  will  be  taken.    Hence, 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  265 

it  is  important  in  prescription  writing,  and  in  directions  to 
patients,  that  the  greatest  clarity  and  precision  be  obtained. 

"A  young  foreigner,  one  day,  visited  a  physician  and 
described  a  common  malady  that  had  befallen  him. 

"  'The  thing  for  you  to  do,'  the  physician  said,  'is  to  drink 
hot  water  an  hour  before  breakfast  every  morning.' 

"  'Write  it  down,  doctor,  so  I  won't  forget  it,'  said  the 
patient. 

"Accordingly  the  physician  wrote  the  directions  down — 
namely,  that  the  young  man  was  to  drink  hot  water  an  hour 
before  breakfast  every  morning. 

"The  patient  took  his  leave,  and  in  a  week  returned. 

"  'Well,  how  are  you  feeling?'  the  physician  asked. 

"  'Worse,  doctor,  worse,  if  anything',  was  the  reply. 

"  'Ahem.  Did  you  follow  my  advice,  and  drink  hot  water 
an  hour  before  breakfast?' 

"  'I  did  my  best,  sir,'  said  the  young  man,  'but  I  couldn't 
keep  it  up  more'n  ten  minutes  at  a  stretch.'  " 


IN  THE  INTEREST  OF  SCIENCE 

A  well-known  Australian  visited  his  friend,  Prof.  Rice, 
at  the  latter's  laboratory,  says  a  writer  in  a  Sydney  news- 
paper. The  professor  was  examining  a  dark  brown  sub- 
stance spread  on  paper.  "I  say,  would  you  kindly  let  me 
place  a  bit  of  this  on  your  tongue  ?  My  taste  has  become  so 
vitiated  by  tasting  all  sorts  of  things." 

"Certainly,"  responded  the  over-accommodating  visitor, 
holding  out  his  tongue. 

The  professor  took  up  a  little  of  the  substance  under  analy- 
sis and  placed  it  on  the  other's  tongue.  The  latter  worked 
it  around  for  fully  a  minute,  tasting  it,  much  as  he  would  a 
fine  confection. 

"Note  any  effect?"  inquired  the  professor. 

"No ;  none." 

"It  doesn't  paralyze  or  prick  your  tongue  ?" 

"Not  that  I  can  detect." 


266  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"I  thought  not.  There  are  no  alkaloids  in  it,  then.  How 
does  it  taste?" 

"Bitter  as  the  dickens." 

"Hem — m  ;  all  right." 

"What  is  it?"  inquired  the  visitor. 

"I  don't  know.  That's  what  I'm  trying  to  find  out.  Some 
one  has  been  poisoning  horses  with  it !" 


WHAT  SHE  WAS 


"Yes,"  said  the  matron,  "this  is  a  home  for  self-supporting 
women.  But  we  want  to  know  something  of  the  persons 
who  come  here  to  stay.  May  I  ask  what  your  occupation 
is?" 

"I  am  a  healer,"  responded  the  applicant  for  room  and 
board. 

"Physician ''" 

"No.     Physicians  don't  heal.     I  am  a  healer."' 

"Of  what  kind?" 

"Of  a  new  kind." 

"Faith?" 

"No." 

"Water?" 

"No." 

"Bones?" 

"No." 

"Magnetic?" 

"No.     I  heal  with  the  aid  of  the  spirits." 

"Then  you  are  a  spiritualist?" 

"No!"  exclaimed  the  applicant,  scornfully.  "Men  are 
spiritualists.     I  am  a  spirituelle !" 


A  HOT-HEADED  DOCTOR 

A  hot-headed,  warm-hearted  physician  was  Dr.  Dougal, 
who  practised  in  Scotland  in  the  last  part  of  the  eighteenth 
century.     He  was  of  a  contradictory  nature,  and  would  not 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  267 

allow  the  unlearned  to  express  an  opinion  in  regard  to  their 
own  state  of  health. 

One  day  a  man  in  an  agony  of  pain  came  into  his  drug- 
shop  and  asked  to  have  his  tooth  drawn.  "Man,  you're  no 
needing  a  tooth  drawn,"  said  the  doctor.  "Gae  awa'  hame 
and  pit  a  poultice  to  it."  An  argument  ensued,  during  which 
the  sufiferer,  driven  to  desperation,  cried  out,  "I  dinna  sup- 
pose you  can  draw  teeth."  At  this  the  doctor  seized  his 
forceps  and  jumped  over  the  counter.  "I'll  draw  every 
tooth  in  your  haid,"  he  shouted,  and  started  in  pursuit  of 
his  patient,  who  rushed  through  the  market  square  of  Keith, 
vainly  shrieking  for  aid.  He  was  finally  outrun  by  the 
doctor,  who  got  him  down  on  his  back  and  triumphantly 
took  out  two  of  his  teeth  on  the  spot. 

The  remarks  of  the  doctor  were  always  short  and  sharp, 
and  yet  they  contained  a  deal  of  homely  wisdom. 

"I've  a  deal  to  suffer  with  my  een,  doctor,"  said  a  patient. 

"Better  sufifer  with  them  than  without  them,"  replied  the 
doctor. 

"Sic  an  awfu'  head  as  I've  got,  doctor,"  said  another. 
"Can  ye  do  naething  for  't?" 

"Well,  well,  lassie,'  said  he,  "its  nae  muckle  0'  a  heid,  but 
ye'll  hae  to  be  doing  wi't,  for  it's  just  a'  ye  hae  for't,  ye  ken." 

"Doctor,"  asked  a  talkative  wife,  "what's  the  matter  wi' 
my  tongue?" 

"Just  needing  a  rest,"  replied  the  doctor,  soothingly. 


BRAVERY  OF  A  DOCTOR'S  WIFE 

A  strange  story  comes  from  China  of  a  remarkable  opera- 
tion for  appendicitis  performed  by  IMrs.  William  H.  Logan, 
wife  of  a  medical  missionary  in  China. 

When  living  in  the  far  interior  of  that  vast  country,  800 
miles  from  the  nearest  doctor,  her  husband  was  stricken  with 
appendicitis.  Dr.  Logan  saw  that  his  only  chance  of  recov- 
ery lay  in  an  operation,  which  he  asked  his  wife  to  perform 
accordmg  to  instructions  which  he  gave  her.     A  more  appall- 


268  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

ing  position  for  a  human  being  to  be  placed  in  could  scarcely 
be  imagined  ;  but  this  heroic  woman,  who  might  perhaps 
have  screamed  if  a  mouse  had  run  over  her  feet,  placed  her 
husband  under  an  anesthetic,  and  with  her  unskilled  hand 
successfully  removed  his  appendix.  Afterward,  when  he 
rallied  sufficiently  to  be  moved,  she  took  him  800  miles  by 
wagon  and  rail  to  a  physician,  who  completed  the  cure. 


A  PLEASANT  POSSIBILITY 

A  member  of  the  facult\'  of  the  Columbian  Medical  Col- 
lege at  Washington  is  particularly  fond  of  taking  his  stu- 
dents unawares  in  his  "quizzes."  To  one  student,  whom  it 
would  not  be  uncharitable  to  call  a  dullard,  the  professor 
said  one  day : 

'"What  quantity  constitutes  a  dose  of  ,"  giving  the 

technical  name  of  croton  oil. 

"A  teaspoon ful,"  was  the  answer. 

The  instructor  made  no  comment ;  and  the  student  soon 
realized  that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  After  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  had  elapsed,  he  said : 

"Professor,  I  should  like  to  change  my  reply  to  that 
question." 

"I'm  afraid  it's  too  late,  Mr.  Blank,"  responded  the  pro- 
fessor, looking  at  his  watch.  "Your  patient  has  been  dead 
fourteen  minutes." 


GETTING  HER  MONEY'S  WORTH 

Hospital  experiences  are  generally  supposed  to  be  sad, 
but  there  is  an  occasional  merry  one,  as  the  experience  of 
Miss  A will  prove. 

Bridget  Rafferty  had  served  the  best  years  of  her  life  as 
a  cook,  and  now  that  she  was  "wearin'  awa'  "  and  an  opera- 
tion became  necessary,  she  haughtily  declined  to  go  to  a 
ward,  but  took  one  of  the  best  rooms.     The  operation  was 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  269 

successful — but  the  patient  was  allowed  very  little  food. 
She  evidently  pondered  over  the  situation,  and  the  result  of 
her  reflections  was  manifested  in  a  most  frequent  use  of  the 
electric  bell  at  her  bed.  Miss  A ,  a  novice  in  her  pro- 
fession, would  fly  to  her  to  be  greeted  with  some  trifling 
question  or  the  remark :  "I  only  wanted  to  know  if  you 
were  there."    As  such  frequent  use  of  her  bell  suggested  to 

the  matron  on  that  floor  that  Miss  A was  neglecting  her 

patient,  Miss  A remonstrated  and  received  the  following 

unique  explanation. 

"Well,  you  see,  Miss,  here  I  am  paying  thirty  dollars  a 
week  and  I'm  not  seeing  anything,  I'm  not  hearing  anything, 
and  Miss,  I'm  not  eating  anything.  So  I  just  ring  the  bell 
to  get  my  money's  worth,  and  anyways,  I  enjoy  hearing  it 
ring." 


HAD  HIS  SHARE 


Recently  a  medical  man  told  this  tale  at  a  professional 
banquet. 

"Not  so  long  since,"  said  the  doctor,  "a  member  of  the 
medical  profession  died  and  in  due  time  approached  the 
gates  of  the  Beautiful  Land.  He  was,  of  course,  accosted 
by  St.  Peter. 

"  'What  is  your  name  ?'  asked  the  aged  doorkeeper. 

"  'Sam  Jones,'  was  the  reply. 

"  'What  was  your  business  while  on  earth  ?' 

"  'I  was  a  doctor.' 

"  'Oh,  a  physician,  eh  ?  Made  out  your  own  bills,  I  sup- 
pose ?' 

"'Yes,  sir.' 

"'Collected  'em  yourself?' 

"  'Why — why — yes,  sir,'  stammered  the  wondering  shade 
of  the  physician. 

"And  then  St.  Peter  threw  wide  the  portals  and  said: 
'Go  right  in,  my  friend ;  if  you've  done  that  you've  had 
punishment  enough.' " 


270  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

AND  THAT'S  SO 

Little  Bobby — Pop,  what's  a  sanitarium? 

Mr.  Hadaliver — It's  a  place  where,  after  you've  been  there 
a  week,  you  wish  you  were  dead ;  and  after  you've  been 
there  a  month,  you  think  you  never  were  alive  before. 


THEIR  IDEA 


"From  the  charges  some  doctors  make  for  their  services," 
said  Sinnick,  "I  guess  they  must  construe  the  scriptural 
injunction  thus : 

"  'Physician,  heel  thyself.'  " 


THE  CAUSE  OF  THE  DELAY 

She. — If  you  had  told  me  you  weren't  feeling  well,  I'd 
have  fixed  up  some  of  these  old-fashioned  remedies  a  couple 
of  days  ago. 

He. — Yes,  I  know.  That's  why  I  didn't  say  anything 
about  it. 


PAYING  PATIENTS 

Paying  Patient  (leaving  hospital)  :  Well,  nurse,  I  am 
very  grateful  for  all  the  skill  and  attention  I  have  received 
here.  If  there  is  any  way  in  which  I  can  show  my 
gratitude — 

Nurse :  Perhaps  I  ought  to  mention  that  paying  patients, 
if  unmarried,  are  expected  to  propose  to  one  of  the  nurses. 
They  have  full  liberty  of  choice. 


DOING 


"New  doctor,  eh?     Has  he  done  you  good?" 
"Well,  I've  been  done  better." 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  271 

USUAL  RESULT 

Doctor — Did  you  apply  a  mustard  plaster  to  your  spine 
as  I  directed? 
Patient — Yes. 

Doctor — Was  the  result  satisfactory  ? 
Patient — Not  altogether  ;  I  found  it  was  quite  a  draw-back. 


A  SURE  CURE 


"There's  only  one  way  to  get  rid  of  insomnia,"  said  the 
facetious  doctor. 

"And  that?"  queried  his  patient. 

"Is  to  go  to  sleep  and  forget  about  it." 


BUSINESS  IS  BUSINESS 

Patient:  "You  say  there  will  be  considerable  cutting  to 
this  operation." 

Doctor :     "Yes." 

Patient :  "Well,  you'd  better  draw  up  a  set  of  plans  and 
furnish  me  with  an  estimate." 


SANITARY 


We've  got  the  antiseptic  kiss, 
The  courtship  sterilized — 

We'll  have,  if  it  keeps  up  like  this. 
The  divorce  deodorized. 


A  QUICK  RELIEF 


Friend — Well,  old  man,  did  the  doctor  relieve  you  ? 
Invalid — Yes,  of  twenty  dollars. 


272  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

UNGRATEFUL 

Prometheus  shrieked  witli  frightful  clamor,  as  often  as 
the  vulture  tore  out  his  vitals. 

The  bird  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal  the  impatience  which 
this  provoked  in  him. 

"Ungrateful  man !"  he  exclaimed.  "Far  from  complain- 
ing, you  should  be  glad  that  I  do  not  call  it  an  operation, 
and   charge   you   $500." 


A   CHEESE 


The  physicians  were  holding  a  consultation  beside  the 
cot  of  the  man  supposed  to  have  appendicitis  concealed  about 
his  person. 

"I  believe,"  said  one  of  the  surgeons,  "that  we  should  wait 
and  let  him  get  stronger  before  cutting  into  him." 

Before  the  other  prospective  operators  could  reply,  the 
patient  turned  his  head  and  remarked  feebly : 

"What  do  you  take  me  for — a  cheese?" 


SOMEWHAT  DIFFERENT 

Physician — Madame,  I  find  your  husband  has  pneumonia 
in  its  worst  form. 

Mrs.  Newrich — I  can't  understand  that.  We  are  certainly 
rich  enough  to  afford  the  very  best  there  is. 


THE  TROUBLE 


Dr.  Endee — Your  brother  is  afflicted  with  a  folding  vermi- 
form appendix. 

Mr.  Thompson — No  wonder.  He  has  always  insisted 
upon  sleeping  in  a  folding  bed. 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  273 

MEDICAL  NEEDS 

"Did  you  hear  about  the  woman  who  had  invented  a  device 
for  keeping  poultices  hot?" 

"Nothing  in  that ;  what  the  world  needs  is  an  invention  to 
keep  mustard  plasters  cool." 


CONSOLATION 


"I'm  feeling  very  ill  again,  doctor.  Do  you  think  I'm 
going  to  die  ?" 

"My  dear  madam,  compose  yourself.  That  is  the  last 
thing  in  the  world  that  is  going  to  happen  to  you." 


BRAIN  WORK 


Doctor — I  find  that  you  are  doing  too  much  brain  work. 
How  does  this  happen?  I  thought  you  said  your  duties 
required  physical  endurance  more  than  anything  else? 

Patient — They  do.  The  brain  work  is  due  to  the  efforts 
I  have  to  put  forth  in  remembering  all  the  things  my  wife 
wants  me  to  get  for  her  downtown,  every  day. 


A  PROPER  SIGN 


Warden — I  want  a  neat  sign  for  the  outside  of  the  epileptic 
ward.     How  would  you  letter  it? 
Ditto — Survival  of  the  fittest. 


SATISFIED  WITH  PRESENT  CONDITIONS 

The  stork  smiled  broad  when  he  heard  that  birds 

Are  to  be  the  predominant  race. 
'I'm  th'  whole  thing  now,"  he  said,  and  flew 

Away  on  another  case. 


274  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

PLACING  THE  BLAME 

Caller — So  the  doctor  brougiit  you  a  little  baby  sister  the 
other  night,  eh? 

Tommy — Yeh ;  I  guess  it  was  the  doctor  done  it.  Any- 
way, I  heard  him  tellin'  pa  some  time  ago,  'at  if  pa  didn't 
pay  his  old  bill  he'd  make  trouble  for  him. 


HADN'T  MISSED  IT 

An  old  negro  had  called  in  a  doctor  of  his  own  race,  but 
not  improving  under  his  care,  he  called  in  a  white  physician 
to  prescribe  for  him.  After  feeling  the  patient's  pulse  and 
looking  at  his  tongue  the  new  doctor  asked : 

"Did  the  other  physician  take  your  temperature?" 
"I  don't  know,  sah,"  was  the  answer.    "I  hain't  missed 
anything  but  my  watch  as  yet" 


CAUTIOUS 


"But  why  did  you  not  send  for  the  doctor  next  door,  when 
you  became  suddenly  ill?"  asked  his  friend. 

"You  forget,"  answered  the  sufferer,  "that  I  have  been 
learning  to  play  the  cornet  recently." 


TOO  PERSONAL 


"Do  you  ever  have  any  trouble  with  your  stomach  ?"  asked 
the  doctor,  after  noting  the  pulse  of  the  patient  who  had 
called  at  his  office. 

"Yes,  sir,  sometimes.  A  good  many  of  the  things  I  eat 
don't  agree  with  me." 

"Just  so.     Any  breaking  out  of  the  skin?" 

"Once  in  a  while." 

"Head  itch  occasionally?" 

"Doctor,  that's  none  of  your  business." 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  275 

A  PROPER  DIAGNOSIS 

Patient — "Doctor,  I  can't  sleep  at  night.  I  tumble  and 
toss  until  morning." 

Doctor — "H'm,  that's  bad.  Let  me  see  your  tongue. 
(After  diagnosis).  Physically  you  are  all  right.  Perhaps 
you  worry  over  that  bill  you've  owed  me  for  the  past  two 
years." 


WANTED  THE  CARPENTER 

A  head  adorned  with  shaggy  and  unmanageable  whiskers 
was  thrust  out  of  the  window,  and  a  voice  that  fitted  the 
whiskers  inquired : 

"What  is  it?" 

"Oh,  is  this  Mr.  Higgins?"  came  a  still,  small  voice  from 
the  shadow  of  the  doorway  below. 

"Yes." 

"Please  come  to  414  High  street,  just  as  quick  as  you  can, 
and  bring  your  instruments." 

"I  ain't  no  doctor ;  I'm  a  carpenter.  Dr.  Higgins  lives 
in  the  next  street,"  and  the  window  came  down  with  a  slam 
that  told  of  former  experiences  of  the  same  kind  on  the  part 
of  the  humble  artisan. 

But  carpenter  Higgins  had  not  got  comfortably  back  into 
bed  before  the  bell  rang  again,  and,  uttering  some  remarks, 
he  rose  once  more  and  went  to  the  window. 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  now?"  he  ejaculated. 

"Please,  sir,"  said  the  little  voice,  "it's  you  we  want ;  pa 
and  ma  is  shut  up  in  the  foldin'  bed,  an'  we  can't  get  'em 
out." 


AN  EYE  TO  BUSINESS 


Physician — The  walking  is  just  splendid  this  morning. 
His  wife — Why,  I  thought  the  streets  were  covered  with 
sleet  ? 

Physician — So  they  are,  my  dear. 


276  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

HOW  THE  CURE  WAS  ACCOMPLISHED 

Doctor  Bluster — What  I  The  boy  is  well  already  ?  Well, 
well !  A  marvellous  cure,  indeed !  What  do  you  think  of 
my  medicine  now,  Dame  Tachleigh? 

Dame  Tachleigh — Wonderful,  Doctor  ;  simply  wonderful } 
I  told  the  boy,  yesterday,  that  if  that  medicine  didn't  cure 
him,  you  were  going  to  fetch  a  diflferent  kind  today. 


SAX  MILES  FROM  DRUMTOCHTY 

English  Tourist  (in  the  far  north,  miles  from  anywhere)  — 
Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  and  your  family  live  here  all 
the  winter?  Why,  what  do  you  do  when  any  of  you  are 
ill  ?    You  can  never  get  a  doctor  1 

Scotch  Shepherd — Nae,  sir.  We've  just  to  dee  a  natural 
death ! 


OVERWORKED 

"John,"  said  the  doctor's  wife,  "my  tongue  looks  very 
badly  this  morning." 

"Ah !"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  "overwork,  no  doubt." 
"But,  really  I  am  not  overworked.     You  know  that — " 
"I  was  not  referring  to  you,  but  your  tongue." 


APPENDICITIS 


The  woman  wept  when  we  told  her  that  her  husband  had 
appendicitis. 

Of  course  we  strove  to  comfort  her. 

"He  may  recover,"  we  urged. 

"Yes,  but  in  any  event,  it  is  now  the  doctor's  wife  who  gets 
the  new  spring  hat,  and  not  I !"  she  sobbed,  convulsively. 

Now  this  had  to  do  with  the  cost  of  operating,  concerning 
which  we  were  not  qualified  to  speak  except  in  the  most 
general  way. 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  ^n 

THE  DOCTOR'S  WAY 

"Dear,"  said  the  physician's  wife,  "when  can  you  let  me 
have  $10?" 

"Well,"  replied  the  medical  man,  "I  hope  to  cash  a  draft 
shortly,  and  then — " 

"Cash  a  draft?     What  draft?" 

"The  one  I  saw  Mrs.  Jenkins  sitting  in  this  morning." 


MISS  BREEZY 


Young  Mr.  Gotham :  "Have  you  been  in  town  long, 
Miss  Breezy?" 

Miss  Breezy  (from  the  West)  :  "About  a  week,  but  I 
found  the  long  ride  from  Chicago  so  fatiguing  that  I  have 
scarcely  been  out  at  all." 

Young  Mr.  Gotham :  "I  am  sorry  you  have  been  indis- 
posed, Miss  Breezy;  I  would  be  glad  to  take  you  to  see 
Dr.  Jekyll." 

Miss  Breezy  (a  trifle  coldly)  :  "Thanks,  Mr.  Gotham, 
but  my  indisposition  is  scarcely  severe  enough  to  consult  a 
physican." 


CAUSE  AND  EFFECT 

Undertaken  (to  Harlem  physician) — "Did  a  stranger  call 
on  you  today  for  treatment?" 

Physician— "No." 

"That's  strange.  That  gentleman  was  looking  for  a  phy- 
sician, and  I  recommended  you  very  highly." 

"Yes,  I  guess  that's  the  reason  he  didn't  come  to  see  me." 

A  MEDICAL  JEST 

There's  naught  to  make  the  suflFerer  grin 

In  abscess,  boil,  or  tumor, 
Although  physicians  find  therein 

Considerable  humor. 


278  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

PATIENTS 

"I  haven't  had  a  single  call  since  I  opened  my  office  ten 
days  ago,"  complained  the  newly-fledged  RI.  D.  "Here  I 
sit  day  after  day,  like  Patience  on  a  monument." 

"Oh,  well,  don't  get  discouraged,"  rejoined  the  sympa- 
thetic friend.  "It's  only  a  matter  of  time  until  you  will  have 
patients  under  monuments." 


EXPLAINED 


The  Doctor — Your  calmness  astonishes  me  in  one  so 
young.  Have  you  ever  been  examined  by  a  physician  be- 
fore? 

The  Soubrctte — No,  sir ;  but  by  a  theatrical  manager. 


BRAIN  FEVER 


Chappie:     What's  the  mattah,  deah  boy? 
Cholly :     Nothing  much — bwain  fever. 
Chappie  :     Good  heavens — that's  fatal ! 
Cholly:     Usually,  deah  boy,  but  (superiorly)  the  doctor 
said  there  was  no  danger  with  such  a  physique  as  I  have. 


AN  IRRESISTIBLE  APPEAL 

"I  will  tell  you  what  it  is  for,"  said  the  demure  little 
trained  nurse  who  had  just  asked  for  a  contribution,  "and  I 
believe  that  you  will  agree  that  it  is  a  sad  case  and  well 
deserving  any  aid  you  may  care  to  give. 

"Near  my  old  home,  down  south,  in  Alabama,  is  a  lake 
which  until  last  winter  had  never  been  frozen,  when  for  the 
first  time  a  solid  sheet  of  ice  covered  the  surface  of  the  water. 
On  the  shore  of  this  lake  was  a  little  cabin,  the  home  of  a 
happy  family  of  negroes. 

"One  evening  a  large  flock  of  wild  geese  alighted  on  the 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  279 

ice  and  settled  down  for  the  night.  When  darkness  came 
the  whole  family  armed  themselves  with  clubs,  went  out 
on  the  ice  and  started  to  kill  the  geese,  which  they  thought 
were  asleep.     But  here  they  mistook  the  situation. 

"The  poor  geese  were  wide  awake,  but  could  not  get  away 
because  they  were  all  frozen  tight  to  the  ice.  Still,  they  made 
one  mighty  and  combined  efifort  to  escape,  and  in  doing  so 
carried  the  layer  of  ice  with  them,  and  with  it  the  negroes, 
and  flew  straight  up  until  finally  they  disappeared  from  view 
and  were  never  seen  again. 

"None  of  this  unhappy  family  were  left  behind  except  the 
aged  blind  grandfather,  who  had  remained  in  the  cabin,  and 
it  is  for  his  benefit  I  am  taking  up  the  collection." 


WRONG  DIAGNOSIS 

Not  long  ago  an  old  colored  woman,  of  Virginia,  visited 
a  doctor  and  informed  him  that  her  husband  was  seriously 
ill.  The  doctor  hastened  home  with  her,  and  upon  making 
a  diagnosis  of  the  man's  case  informed  the  wife  that  he  had 
a  hopeless  case  of  gastritis. 

"Gastritis !"  ejaculated  the  old  woman.  "De  Lawd  knows 
I  don't  know  how  he  ever  got  gastritis,  'cause  I  don't  burn 
a  thing  but  coal  ile  in  dis  house,  an'  but  powerful  little  of 
that." 


DR.  MITCHELL'S  PARROT 

Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell  had  a  parrot  that  was  an  exception- 
ally fine  talker.     The  bird's  star  sentence  was : 

"Well!  darn  my  eyes!  Here  I  am  at  last,  just  where  I 
belong." 

This  was  not  uttered  every  day,  but  only  on  occasions. 
The  bird  was  the  pet  of  a  hospital,  where  he  was  kept  in  the 
dispensary,  but  allowed  the  freedom  of  the  room.  One  day 
the  druggist  was  called  away  for  a  while.  He  left  a  mixture 
of  whisky  and  water  in  a  glass  on  the  table.     When  he  got 


28o  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

back  the  glass  was  overturned  and  shattered,  the  liquid  was 
missing,  and  the  parrot  was  unconscious  on  the  iloor. 

At  first  the  parrot  was  thought  to  be  dying,  but  some 
humorous  internes  alleged  it  might  have  a  chance  for  life  if 
it  was  taken  to  the  public  alcoholic  ward.  There  it  was 
conveyed  with  mock  ceremony,  and  tucked  in  a  cot  with  a 
strip  of  linen  tied  around  its  head.  The  only  thing  to  do  was 
to  await  developments — the  intoxicated  bird  either  had  to 
die,  or  recover  without  aid.  A  nurse  kept  watch  on  it,  and 
after  a  while  the  feathered  toper  stirred,  crawled  out  from 
under  the  covers,  cocked  its  bandaged  head  to  one  side, 
glanced  around  at  the  other  occupants  of  cots  and  croaked : 
"Well!  darn  my  eyes!  Here  I  am  at  last  just  where  I 
belong." 


HER  IDEA  OF  IT 


Rural  Aunt — And  what  do  you  work  at  when  you  are  at 
home? 

City  Nephew  (on  a  vacation) — Why,  I  attend  school. 
I'm  studying  for  a  doctor. 

Rural  Aunt — Do  tell !  Ain't  the  doctor  able  to  do  his 
own  studyin'? 


JUST  LIKE  A  DOCTOR 

Doctor — "If  you  must  know,  ma'am,  your  husband  won't 
live  twenty-four  hours  longer." 

"Goodness  gracious !''  ejaculated  the  broken-hearted,  but 
economical  woman,  "and  here  you've  gone  and  prescribed 
medicine  enough  for  five  days !" 


PILLAGE 


"Isn't  this  bill  rather  large,  doctor?    You  only  prescribed 
once,  and  I  only  took  one  of  your  pills." 
"Well,  it  was  that  pill  that  cured  you." 
"I  am  not  objecting  to  the  pill,  doctor,  but  to  the  pillage." 


GENERAL  AVERAGE  aSi 

HAD  READ  ABOUT  IT  BEFORE 

Mrs.  Rakestraw — So  you've  finished  reading  the  biog- 
raphy of  that  statesman.     Well,  what  did  he  finally  die  of  ? 

Rakestraw — Why,  of  this  here  new  disease  that  we  read 
about  so  much  lately.  I  see  by  the  headin'  of  the  chapter, 
that  the  last  thirty  pages  in  the  book  is  about  the  appendix. 


LONESOME  BESSIE 

"Has  your  measles  gone,  Bessie?"  shouted  a  little  friend 
to  the  tot  who  was  looking  wistfully  from  the  window. 

"Yes ;  they's  left.  I  heard  the  doctor  tell  mamma  that 
they  broked  out  last  night." 


AN  ERROR  IN  DIAGNOSIS 

Stories  of  railroad  accidents  were  being  told  at  Tuxedo. 
Spencer  Trask,  of  New  York,  the  well  known  banker  and 
author,  said : 

"In  a  certain  collision,  one  of  the  victims  lay  for  a  long 
time  on  his  back  across  the  ties.  Finally  two  men  picked 
him  up,  carried  him  to  the  station  and  placed  him  on  the 
floor. 

"  'He'll  lie  easier  here,'  they  said,  'till  the  doctor  comes.' 

"The  doctor  came  a  little  later.  'This  poor  chap  is  done 
for,  I'm  afraid,'  he  said,  glancing  at  the  prostrate  victim. 

"Then  he  knelt  down,  lifted  one  of  the  man's  closed  eye- 
lids, and  peered  into  a  dull,  blank,  unseeing,  lifeless  eye. 

"  'Yes,  he's  dead  all  right.  Take  him  away,'  said  the 
doctor. 

"But  the  pale  lips  of  the  injured  man  moved  slightly,  and 
a  feeble  voice  murmured :    'That  was  my  glass  eye.'  " 


FROM  THE  POETS 


283 


FROM  THE  POETS 

MORAL  COSMETICS 

Ye  who  would  save  your  features  florid, 
Lithe  limbs,  bright  eyes,  unwrinkled  forehead, 
From  age's  devastation  horrid, 

Adopt  this  plan, — 
'T  Vfill  make,  in  climate  cold  or  torrid, 

A  hale  old  man. 

Avoid  in  youth  luxurious  diet. 
Restrain  the  passions'  lawless  riot ; 
Devoted  to  domestic  quiet. 

Be  wisely  gay ; 
So  shall  ye,  spite  of  age's  fiat. 

Resist  decay. 

Seek  not  in  Mammon's  worship,  pleasure; 
But  find  your  richest,  dearest  treasure 
In  God,  his  word,  his  work,  not  leisure; 

The  mind,  not  sense. 
Is  the  sole  scale  by  which  to  measure 

Your  opulence. 

This  the  solace,  this  the  science — 
Life's  purest,  sweetest,  best  appliance — 
That  disappoints  not  man's  reliance, 

Whate'er  his  state; 
But  challenges,  with  calm  defiance. 

Time,  fortune,  fate. 

Horace  Smith. 


MY  HEALTH  IS  WEALTH 

Some  have  too  much,  yet  still  do  crave : 
I  little  have,  and  seek  no  more. 

They  are  but  poor,  though  much  they  have. 
And  I  am  rich  with  little  store: 

They  poor,  I  rich;  they  beg,  I  give; 

They  lack,  I  leave ;  they  pine,  I  live. 

I  laugh  not  at  another's  loss; 
I  grudge  not  at  another's  gain; 

aSs 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

No  worldly  waves  my  mind  can  toss; 

My  state  at  one  doth  still  remain : 
I  fear  no  foe,  I  fawn  no  friend ; 
I  loathe  not  life,  nor  dread  my  end. 

Some  weigh  their  pleasure  by  their  lust, 
Their  wisdom  by  their  rage  of  will; 

Their  treasure  is  their  only  trust, 
A  cloaked  craft  their  store  of  skill : 

But  all  the  pleasure  that  I  find 

Is  to  maintain  a  quiet  mind. 

My  wealth  is  health  and  perfect  ease; 

My  conscience  clear,  my  chief  defense; 
I  neither  seek  by  bribes  to  please. 

Nor  by  deceit  to  breed  offense : 
Thus  do  I  live,  thus  will  I  die; 
Would  all  did  so,  as  well  as  I ! 

Snt  Edwaes  Dyzb. 


SHOOTER'S  HILL 


Health !    I  seek  thee ! — Dost  thou  love 

The  mountain-top,  or  quiet  vale; 
Or  deign  o'er  humbler  hills  to  rove 

On  showery  June's  dark  southwest  gale? 
If  so,  I'll  meet  all  blasts  that  blow. 

With  silent  step,  but  not  forlorn; 
Though,  goddess,  at  thy  shrine  I  bow, 

And  woo  thee  each  returning  mom. 

I  «eek  thee  where,  with  all  his  might. 

The  joyous  bird  his  rapture  tells. 
Amidst  the  half-excluded  light 

That  gilds  the  fox -glove's  pendant  bell«; 
Where  cheerly  up  the  bold  hill's  side 

The  deep'ning  groves  triumphant  climb; 
In  groves   Delight  and   Peace  abide. 

And  Wisdom  marks  the  lapse  of  time. 

To  hide  me  from  the  public  eye. 
To  keep  the  throne  of  Reason  clear. 

Amidst  fresh  air  to  breathe  or  die, 
I  took  my  staff  and  wander'd  here; 


FROM  THE  POETS  387 

Suppressing  every  sigh  that  heaves. 

And  coveting  no  wealth  but  thee, 
I  nestle  in  the  honied  leaves, 

And  hug  my  stolen  liberty. 

Sweet  health,  I  seek  thee!     Hither  bring 

Thy  balm  that  softens  human  ills; 
Come  on  the  long-drawn  clouds  that  fling 

Their  shadows   o'er  the   Surrey   Hills, 
Yon  green  topp'd  hills;  and  far  away. 

Where  late  as  now  I  freedom  stole, 
And  spent  one  dear  delicious  day 

On  thy  wild  banks,  romantic  Mole ! 

Robert  Bloomfield. 


OL'  DOC  HOPKINS 


Doc  Hopkins,  you  bet,  never  puts  on  much  style ; 
His  clo'es  is  all  shiny— he  don't  care  for  that: 
He  sports  an  ol'  stovepipe  jest  once  in  a  while. 
But  most  of  the  time  it's  a  floppin'  gray  hat. 
No,  he  ain't  noways  slick, 

But  I  take  heaps  o'  stock. 
When  I'm  anyways  sick, 
In  ol'  Doc. 

Doc  Hopkins  ain't  much  on  these  newfangled  drugs; 

He  Stan's  by  straight  rhubarb  an'  quinine  an'  such: 
He  don't  study  microbes  an'  bactery  bugs. 
An'  he  ain't  fooling  'round  with  them  ex-rays,  not  much. 
No,  he  ain't  up  to  date, 

But  there  ain't  no  half-cock 
In  his  ways,  he's  fust  rate. 
Is  ol'  Doc. 

Doc  Hopkins,  he's  jest  a  back  number,  I  guess. 

But  he's  doctored  our  folks  for  the  many's  a  year; 
He  don't  turn  his  back  when  a  man's  in  distress. 
But  he  rolls  up  his  sleeves  an'  he  straightens  his  gear. 
He's  a  rough  sort  o'  cuss. 
If  you're  easy  to  shock, 
But  there's  many  that's  wuss 
Than  ol'  Doc. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

A  CHRISTIAN  SCIENCE  WOOING 

My  darling,  when  I  squeeze  thy  hand, 

That  really  seems  to  really  be, 
Of  course  I  clearly  understand 

'Tis  but  a  dear  nonentity. 

That  Grecian  nose,  that  with  delight. 
Presses   the   semblance   of   a   rose, 

We  know,  for  we  have  found  the  light, 
Is  but  the  semblance  of  a  nose. 

Thy  sylph-like  form,  that  seems  to  me 

So  genuine  and  beautiful. 
Is  but  an  empty  phantasy; 

It  isn't  even  cotton-wool. 

Those  teeth  of  thine,  mysterious  girl. 
Are  false,  and  thou  thyself  confessed. 

The  upper  set  that  gleam  like  pearl 
Are  even  falser  than  the  rest. 

Thy  graceful  limbs  appear  to  move 
Divinely  through  the  dreamy  waltz; 

'Tis  wondrous,  love,  for  I  can  prove 
They  both  are  false,  they  both  are  false. 

Come,  dearest,  nearer  still  to  me. 
And  prove  to  me  thy  faith  is  strong; 

Sit  on  my  suppositious  knee. 
If  there's  no  evil,  where's  the  wrong? 

And  if  I  steal  one  mystic  kiss, 

I  trust,  my  own,  thou'lt  not  demur; 
Thy  lips  are  just  as  full  of  bliss, 
As  if  thy  lips,  love,  really  were. 

James  J.  Dooung. 


BOWERSVILLE'S  FAITH-CURIST 

We've  got  a  faith-cure  teacher  in  the  school  in  Bowersville — 
He  says  we  never  could  be  cured  by  liniment  or  pill. 
He  told  the  scholars  how  it  was — how  any  old  complaint 
Would  lose  its  grip  if  they  would  say:    "I'm  sick?    I  guess  I  ain't!" 
Of  course  it  raised  a  rumpus  when  the  folks  learned  of  his  fad — 
Some  of  the  church's  pillars  said  his  faith  was  downright  bad. 


FROM  THE  POETS  289 

When  Johnny  Riggs  said  he  must  go,  because  his  pa  was  sick, 

The  teacher  laughed  and  said:     "Why,  John,  he's  sound  as  any 

brick. 
Your  pa  just  thinks  he's  ailing,  like  an  unbelieving  fool." 
And  Johnny  said :     "Pa  stood  behind  an  unbelieving  mule ; 
An'  when  the  mule  got  through  with  him,  he  thought  he  had  been 

kicked 
In  almost  every  spot  the  mule,  with  unbelief,  had  picked." 

Then  Sammy  Wood  was  criticised  because  he  did  not  know 
His  lesson.     He  arose  and  said :    "Kind  sir,  it  may  be,  though. 
That  folks  may  think  I  have  not  learned  my  grammar  and  my  rules. 
An'  folks  who  think  that  way,  you  know,  are  unbelievin'  fools." 
The  teacher  grabbed  his  switches,  and  to  Sammy's  side  he  tripped, 
And  said :     "When  I  am  through  with  you,  you'll  think  you  have 
been  whipped." 

But  everything  is  peaceful  now — the  teacher's  changed  his  mind; 

He's  seen  the  errors  of  his  ways  and  left  them  all  behind. 

He  went  to  draw  his  salary,  and  then  the  treasurer 

Observed:    "While  you're  a  thinking  things,  just  think  you've  got 

it,  sir." 
And  now  the  teacher  doesn't  think  that  thoughts  can  fill  the  bill. 
And  we  have  no  more  faith-cure  in  the  school  in  Bowersville. 

John  Winks. 


THE  CURING  OF  WILLIAM  HICKS 

Bill   Hicks  had  asthma — shook  the  floors 
With  each   recurring  paroxysm; 

The  doctors  made  him  live  outdoors. 
And  that  gave  him  the  rheumatism. 

The  doctors  cured  his  rheumatiz — 
Of  that  there  never  was  a  question. 

Strong  acids  stopped  those  pains  of  his. 
But  left  him  ill  of  indigestion. 

Dyspepsia  fled  before  a  course 
Of  eating  grain.     It  would  delight  us 

To  cheer  this  plan  till  we  were  hoarse — 
But  Hicks  then  had  appendicitis. 

He  rallied  from  the  surgeon's  knife. 
And  laid  six  weeks  without  a  quiver. 

The  operation  saved  his  life — 
The  loafing,  though,  knocked  out  his  liver. 


290  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

To  cure  his  liver  troubles  he 

Tried  muscle  stunts — you  know  how  they  go; 
From  liver  ails  he  then  was  free. 

But  all  the  strains  gave  him  lumbago. 

Lumbago  is  a  painful  thing; 

A  masseuse  with  a  visage  solemn 
Rubbed  the  lumbago  out  by  spring, 

But  twisted  poor  Bill's  spinal  column. 

To  rid  his  backbone  of  the  twist 
They  used  some  braces.    They  were  careless — 

The  padding  for  his  head  they  missed ; 
This  made  him  straight  and  left  him  hairless. 

Drugs  were  prescribed  to  grow  his  hair. 

These  acted  just  as  represented; 
They  put  his  scalp  in  good  repair, 

But  soaked  in,  and  left  Hicks  demented. 

Then  to  a  sanatorium 

They  took  Bill.    He  was  wisely  treated ; 
His  brain  with  health  began  to  hum — 

Then  asthma  1 — ward  was  poorly  heated. 

"More  open  air,"  the  doctors  said. 

Bill  Hicks  cried :     "No,  you  shall  not  lure  me. 
I'll  stay  in  peace  upon  my  bed, 

.\nd  shoot  the  man  that  tries  to  cure  me !" 

Wilbur  D.  Nesbit. 


THE  NIGHT  AFTER  CHRISTMAS 

'Twas  the  night  after  Christmas,  and  all  through  the  flat, 
Every  creature  was  wide-awake — barring  the  cat ; 
The  stockings  were  flung  in  a  heap  on  a  chair. 
Quite  empty  of  candy  St.  Nick  had  put  there. 
The  children  were  all  doubled  up  in  their  beds. 
With  pains  in  their  tummies  and  aches  m  their  heads. 
Mamma  heated  water,  while  I,  in  my  wrapper, 
Was  walking  the  kid  (who  is  not  a  kid-napper)  ; 
When  out  in  the  street  there  arose  a  great  clatter. 
And  I  put  down  the  kid  to  see  what  was  the  matter; 
Rushed  out  in  the  entry,  threw  the  door  open  wide, 
And  found  an  old  gentleman  standing  outside. 
I  looked  at  him  closely,  and  realized  then 


FROM  THE  POETS  291 

'Twas  the  doctor  I'd  sent  for  that  morning  at  ten. 

He  was  dressed  in  an  ulster,  to  keep  him  from  chills. 

And  his  pockets  were  bulging  with  boxes  of  pills. 

He  came  to  the  nursery  and  opened  his  pack, 

Full  of  fresh  paregoric  and  strong  ipecac; 

Rhubarb  and  soda-mints,  fine  castor  oil, 

And  pink  sticking-plaster,  rolled  up  in  a  coil. 

The  children  all  howled  in  a  chorus  of  pain, 

And  the  kid  lifted  up  his  contralto  again.  ^ 

He  felt  all  their  pulses  and  looked  at  their  tongues, 

Took  all  their  temperatures,  sounded  their  lungs. 

When  he'd  dosed  all  the  children  and  silenced  the  kid. 

He  put  back  his  medicine,  down  the  stairs  slid, 

Jumped  into  his  cab,  and  said  to  the  driver 

(In   excellont   humor — he'd  just  made   a   "fiver")  : 

"I'm  twelve  hours  behind  my  appointments,  I  fear. 

But  I  wish  it  was  Christmas  each  day  of  the  year!" 

P.  Familias. 


THE  MEDICINE  GLASS 

Accept,  Dear  Heart,  this  little  chalice, 
With  quaint  design  of  gold  enwrought ; 

And  though  its  grace  shall  fail  to  sweeten 
One  bitter  drop  unto  thee  brought. 

Smile  gently  for  the  absent  giver. 

Remembering  of  him — he  prays — 
How  fain  for  thee  himself  had  drunken 

Thy  bitters  in  the  bygone  days. 

William  James  Pasker. 


ALAS!     POOR  JULIA 

Alas,  poor  Julia's  sore  unrest 

Is  cause   for   friendly  speculation; 

She  cannot  sit,  nor  stand  at  best, 
And  e'en  her  speech  has  hesitation. 

And  now,  in  truth,  'tis  whispered  low— 
A  secret,  friends,  upon  your  lives! — 

Oh,  Julia's  up-to-date,  you  know, 
And  sure  'tis  chic  to  have  the  hives ! 


John  C.  Shea. 


292  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

IN  THE  SICK-ROOM 

Among  the  pillows,  propped  in  sweet  repose, 
She  feels  the  heavy  time  slip  slow  away; 

She's  weary  of  the  blushing  crimson  rose, 
That  seems  no  longer  gay. 

She  does  not  hear  the  bird  of  melody 
That  sweetly  sings  within  a  gold  cage  shut ; 

And   several  brand  new  novels  round  her  lie, 
Unopened  and  uncut. 

But  now  a  smile  flits  o'er  her   features   free ; 

All  suddenly,  her  dream's  with  pleasure  filled ; 
Her   soft   brown   eyes   dilate   excitedly — 

She's  with  rare  rapture  thrilled. 

She  sees  above  the  morning  paper  bowed 
The  nurse;  and  then  the  convalescent  pale 

Asks  her  if  she  will  kindly  read  aloud 
The  latest  bargain  sale. 


DYSPEPSIA 


The  dinner  hour  had  come  at  last. 
The  evening  sun  was  sinking  fast; 
I  sat  me  down  in  sorry  mood. 
And  darkly  look'd  upon  the  food. 
Dyspepsia ! 

My   happy    comrades'    bright    eyes    beam'd 
And   o'er   the   steaming  potage   gleam'd ; 
Alas!  not  mine  to  find  relief 
In  whitebait's  flavor  bright  and  brief. 
Dyspepsia ! 

"Try  not  the  duck,"  my  conscience  said; 
'Twill  lay  upon  your  chest  like  lead; 
Delusion  all,  that  bird  so  fair; 
The  sage  and  onions  are  a  snare. 
Dyspepsia ! 

"Oh,  taste !"  our  hostess  cried,  and  press'd 
A  portion  of  a  chicken's  breast; 
I  viewed  the  fowl  with  longing  eye. 
Then  answer'd  sadly,  with  a  sigh, 
"Dyspepsia !" 


FROM  THE  POETS  293 

I  mark'd  with  fix'd  and  stony  glare 
A  brace  of  pheasants  and  a  hare; 
A  tear  stood  in  my  bilious  eye, 
When   helping   friends   to   pigeon-pie. 
Dyspepsia ! 

"Beware  the  celery,  if  you  please; 
Beware  the  awful  Stilton  cheese." 
This  was  the  doctor's  last  good-night; 
I  answered  feebly,  turning  white, 
"Dyspepsia  I" 

The  scarcely-tasted  dinner  done, 
Old  port  and  walnuts  next  came  on; 
I  kept  my  mouth  all  closely  shut; 
But  how  I  long'd  for  just  one  nut! 
Dyspepsia ! 

Some  nuts  I  had,  at  early  day, 
(Morn  was  just  breaking  cold  and  gray), 
I,  starting  up,  with  loud  "ha!  ha!" 
Felt  falling,  like  a  falling  star,— 
Dyspepsia ! 

Fredebick  Field. 


BALLAD  OF  THE  BAD  COLD 

Now,  there  was  a  man  with  a  red,  red  nose 

And  a  weak  and  watery  eye; 
He  stood  in  the  street,  with  a  patient  pose 

While  the  cars  went  hurrying  by. 
And  he  read  a  paper  and  stamped  his  toes 
And  softly  kerchiefed  his  crimson  nose. 

A  friend  soon  joined  him  in  waiting  there, 
And  asked:     "What's  the  latest  row? 

And  what  has  been  taken,  and  when  and  where?" 
And  the  man  said:    "Koochee-ah-chow !" 

And  the  friend  said:     "Jiminy !     You  don't  say? 

Now  what  do  you  think  will  be  done  today?" 

The  man  turned  then,  and  he  sighed :    "I  think 

That  the  next  is  Oc-chooly-choo ! 
I  mean — Ah-choo  I" — and  a  quivering  blink 

Closed  his  eyes  as  the  tears  came  through. 
"Perhaps,  but  it  seems  quite  a  hefty  plan ; 
I  don't  think  they  will,"  said  the  other  man. 


294  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

"It  isn't — Ah-cheel"  cried  the  red-nosed  man, 
"But  it's  Ooo-chy-oo-akkety-wow !" 

"That's  just  what  I  said  when  the  war  began," 
Said  the  friend.    "They're  doing  it  now !" 

But  the  other  answered :    "O,  can't  you  see 

It  is  Wooo  1  Ooo  1  Yoosh-wishy-oof-ka-whee !" 

"No,  no.    You're  wrong,"  said  the  friend  at  tliat 
"Why,  the  place  is  too  far  away 

From  the  seat  of  war,  and  I'll  bet  my  hat 
It  will  not  be  attacked  today." 

And  the  man  with  a  nose  that  was  ruby  red 

Just  gurgled  and  groaned  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  mean  the  war,"  were  the  words  he  said. 

"I  thought  you  were  asking  of  me 
What  I  took  for  this  cold  that  is  in  my  head. 

And  I  told  you — Wh-hoo !    Yoo !     Chawee !" 
And  the  friend  then  snickered  and  said,  said  he : 
"You  sneeze  like  a  class  in  geography !" 


"SO'S   THE   DANDYLINES    COULD   BLOOM" 

Oh,  mommy,  I's  so  tired  of  a-Iayin'  here  in  bed, 

Dist  a  lookin'  at  the  ceilin'  an'  a  takin'  narsty  med ! 

Don't  you  fink,  if  I  prayed  dist  as  hard  as  ever  I  know  how, 

'At  God  would  make  it  after  while  instead  of  dist  right  now? 

There  ain't  no  birds  ner  bumbly-bees,  ner  even  any  flies; 

Dist  rain  an'  sleet  an'  wind  an'  snow'  an  ugly,  dirty  skies. 

I's  tired  of  a-seein'  dist  the  things  aroun'  the  room ; 

An'  I  wisht  'at  it  was   Summer,  so's  the  dandylines  could  bloom ! 

I's  so  tired  of  the  bed-sp'eads  an'  my  little  d'essin'-gown ! 
I  wants  to  see  you  take  the  bundles  in  the  wardrobe  down. 
An'  sp'ead  my  Summer  close  out  wif  'at  funny  wrapped  up  smell 
All  frew  my  waists  an'  stockies,  like  you  did  when  I  was  well; 
An'  my  st'aw  hat  an'  my  jacket  and  my  thinnest  undy  shirt, 
An'  my  oldest  pants,  so's  I  can  play  an'  rummage  in  the  dirt, 
An'  chase  the  hopper-grasses  off  the  mornin'-glory  vines. 
An'  blow  the  fuzzy  fedders  off  the  little  dandylines. 

I  wants  to  put  the  winders  up  an'  feel  the  b'eeze  blow  frew. 
Not  stuffy,  old  an'  mizzable,  but  dist  so  f'esh  an'  new 
'At  you  can  smell  the  maple-t'ees,  an'  hear  the  cat  birds  sing. 
An'  see  the  martins  flying  wivout  wiggelin'  a  wing. 


FROM  THE  POETS  295 

An'  the  sossy  blue-birds  hoppin'  up  an'  down  the  alley  fence, 
An'  the  carpets  hangin'  on  the  lines  dist  like  big  circus  tents, 
An'  the  apple-trees  as  white  as  snow  an'  sweet  as  real  periroom, 
An'  the  yeller  birds  an'  robins,  an'  the  dandylines  in  bloom ! 

I  get  so  tired  bein'  sick,  an  allays  feelin'  queer ! 
I  used  to  have  the  bestest  fun  when  Summertime  was  here! 
Why  couldn't  it  be  warm  an'  sweet  an'  sunny  all  the  time, 
So's  I  could  tumble  in  the  grass,  an'  go  barefoot  and  climb? 
Don't  you  fink,  if  I  prayed  an'  prayed  dist  awful  hard  to-night, 
'At  God  would  take  the  clouds  away,  an'  make  it  nice  an'  b'ight; 
An'  make  me  well,  so's  I  could  play  somewheres  aside  this  room; 
An'  make  the  wevver  Summer  so's  the  dandylines  could  bloom? 

Jack  Bennett. 


PAIN 

Thou  drear  companion  of  the  slow  night-hours. 

Thou  sharpener  of  the  soul !   Long,  long  had  I 

Waged  weary  combat  with  thee,  though  my  cry 
Of  anguish  only  cheered  thy  mocking  powers, 
As  through  the  years  we  strove;  no  respite  ours. 

Till,  lo !  one  day,  each  breathed  victorious  sigh, 

The  master,  thou,  of  my  mortality. 
But  master  who  beneath  my  spirit  cowers 

Its  slave  forever.    Now  fast  friends  are  we. 
My  vanquished  victor  Pain,  and  much  I  owe 

To  thy  stern  fellowship :  through  thee  I  see 
With  quickened  sense  all  things  both  high  and  low, 

For  knowing  all  that  I  can  never  be. 
Tutored  by  thee,  all  wider  life  I  know. 

Elizabeth  West. 


IN  QUARANTINE 

One  short  week  since !    I  had  not  thought 
That  I  could  ever  be  by  aught 

So  sore  afflicted. 
I  pass  the  house  within  whose  walls 
She  is,  and  may  not  stop ;  my  calls 

Are  interdicted. 

Alas !  how  fitful  is  our  bliss. 
I  may  not  go  to  her,  and  this 
By  her  own  order. 


296  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

Here  is  the  note  she  wrote  it  in — 
Tells  me! — to  me,  who  long  has  been 
Her  heart's  sole  warder, 

The  grand  stone  steps  I  mount  no  more. 
I  may  not  enter  as  before 

And  clasp  her  to  me. 
Save  for  a  dim  light  in  her  room 
The  house  is  silent,  wrapt  in  gloom — 

I,  too,  am  gloomy. 

Not  that  she  loves  me  less,  although 
I'm  exiled  to  my  studio 

And  long-shunned  easels. 
But  her  small  brother  (poor,  dear  lad) 
Has  got  what  I  have  never  had. 

Hang  it !     The  measles ! 


SAID  DR.  WISE 


They  tried  the  air  of  foreign   climes; 

They  doctored  and  they  puttered. 
"There's  nothing  wrong,"  a  dozen  times 

The  puzzled  doctor  muttered; 
"Her   lungs   are   strong,   digestion   good, 

But  still  she  is  declining. 
The   cause,   I'll   have   it   understood. 

Is   quite   beyond   divining." 

"A  foolish  girl!"  the  mother  cried, 

Who  really  should  know  better, 
"She  wants  to  be  a  poor  man's  bride. 

And  we,  of  course,  won't  let  her. 
We've   argued,   traveled,  tried   in  vain 

All  kinds  of  pills  and  lotions, 
But  still  she  fails  good  health  to  gain, 

And  holds  to  silly  notions." 

"I  understand,"  the  doctor  said, 

For  of  some  sense  he  boasted, 
"And  while  my  art  has  forged  ahead 

And  on  most  ills  I'm  posted. 
The  circumstances  seem  to  show 

That  you  have  been  quite  stupid; 
I  think  you'd  better  let  me  go 

And  call  in  Dr.  Cupid." 


FROM  THE  POETS  497 

JEAN  BAPTISTE  PAQUETTE 

My  name  ees  Jean  Ba'tees  Paquette, 

I  live  near  h'Ottawa ; 
If  I  was  marry?    Well,  you  bet, 
Ole  Jules   Lablanche  of  Calumet 

Ees  my  pap-een-law. 

One  year  ago  las'  Mardi  Gras, 

I'm  marry  Rosalie ; 
And  now  I'm  father ;  oui,  men  ga 
It  makes  feel  good  for  be  papa, 

Wid  leetle,  small  babee. 

It's  boy  or  girl,  you  wan'  to  know? 

Well,  wait,  and  I  will  tell; 
Hit  come  'bout  five,  six  mont'  ago. 
My  wife  get  sick,  and  I  was  go 

For  bring  Docteur  Labelle. 

Bellemere  Lablanche,  she's  livin'  dere. 

So  when  dat  docteur  come, 
She  say,  "Batees,  you  keep  downstair!" 
I  say,  "Batees,  prends  done  un  verr 

Ski  Blanc  avec  du  gorame." 

I  make  myself  a  leetle  drink. 

An'  den  I  say,  "Mon  vieux. 
You  goin'  be  a  fader  soon,  I  tink. 
You  like  hit?"    Den  I  make  a  vink 

And  say,  "Bullee  for  you." 

Den,  by  en  by,  I'm  not  so  glad, 

I  tink,  "Poor   Rosalie, 
Maybe  she's  feelin'  pretty  bad ; 
Maybe  she  die."    Dat  makes  me  sad, 

Perhaps  I'll  go  and  see. 

I  go  so  quiet  to  de  stair, 

And  den  I  call,  "Docteur!" 
He  say,  "You  get  away  from  dere," 
And  den,  "Tais  toi,"  says  my  Bellemere, 

"You  can't  keep  still  for  sure." 

Den  I  sit  and  feel  so  triste. 

Till  some  one  laughs  en  haut; 
Dat  sound  hall  right :    I  say,  "Batees, 


apS  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

You'll  like  some  whisky;  just  de  least 
Small  drop,  for  luck,  you  know." 

I  drink  myself  a  bon  saute, 

"Batees,  I  wish  you  joy;" 
And  den  I  hear  de  docteur  say, 
"Hullo,  Paquette;  I  t'ink  he'll  weigh 
Ten  pounds,  dis  leetle  boy." 

I  feel  so  glad  I  jump  dat  high, 

I  go  for  run  upstair, 
De  docteur  see  me  come,  and  cry, 
"Hole  on,  I'll  call  you  by-en-by; 

De  room  ain't  quite  prepare." 

To  wait  dis  time  was  much  de  worst; 

I'm  feelin'  pretty  queer; 
I  say  "Batees,  you've  got  a  thirst 
For  drink  to  Jules  Paquette  de  First, 

He  don't  come  every  year." 

I  drink  his  healt,  and  den  I  cry — 

Dat  make  you  laugh  to  see? 
And  me,  I  laugh,  and  wipe  my  eye, 
I  wash  my  face  and  t'ink  I'll  try 
For  go  see  Rosalie. 

I  fix  up  clean,  I  brush  my  hair, 

Give  my  moostash  a  curl. 
And  when  I  just  reach  de  up-stair, 
De  docteur  shout:  "Paquette,  you  dere? 
Here  come  a  ten-pound  girl  I" 

I  jump  dat  high;  I'm  scared,  you  know; 

I'm  Stan'  dare  in  de  hall. 
Den  call,  "Docteur!"    He  say,  "Hello!' 
I  say,  "Docteur,  I  wan'  to  know 

You  t'ink  dat  dat  is  all  ?" 

He  laugh  like  anything  an'  say, 

"How  many  more  you  want? 

1  guess  dat's  all  you  have  today. 

You  wan'  to  see  de  family,  heh? 

Dis  way,  den,  en  avant !" 


I'm  glad  to  see  dam  hall,  you  bet, 
I  say  to  Rosalie  : 


FROM  THE  POETS  299 


"Dat's  splendid  babies,  Ma'am  Paquette 
I  can't  spare  one  of  dem,  and  yet, 
I'm  glad  you  don't  have  t'ree !" 


J.  H.  M. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  DREAM 

Last  evening  I  was  talking 

With  a  doctor,  aged  and  gray, 

Who  told  me  of  a  dream  he  had — 
I  think  'twas  Christmas  Day, 

While  snoozing  in  his  office, 
The  vision  came  to  view; 

For  he  saw  an  angel  enter. 

Dressed  in  garments  white  and  new. 

Said  the  angel:    "I'm  from  heaven; 

The  Lord  just  sent  me  down. 
To  bring  you  up  to  glory. 

To  wear  your  golden  crown. 

"You've  been  a  friend  to  everyone, 
And  worked  hard,  night  and  day; 

You  have  doctored  many  thousands. 
And  from  few  received  your  pay. 

"So  we  want  you  up  in  glory. 
For  you  have  labored  hard, 

And  the  good  Lord  is  preparing 
Your  eternal,  just  reward." 

Then  the  angel  and  the  doctor 

Started  up  toward  Glory's  gate. 

But  when  passing  close  to  hades. 
The  angel  murmured  "Wait! 

"I  have  here  a  place  to  show  you ; 

It's  the  hottest  place  in  hell. 
Where  the  ones  who  never  paid  you 

In  torment  always  dwell." 

And,  behold,  the  doctor  saw  there 
His  old  patients  by  the  score. 

And  taking  up  a  chair  and  fan, 
He  wished  for  nothing  more. 

But  was  bound  to  sit  and  watch  them. 
As  they  sizzle,  singe  and  burn. 


300  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMIClLK 

And  his  eyes  would  rest  on  debtors 
Whichever  way  they'd  turn. 

Said  the  angel,  "Come  on,  doctor! 

There  the  Pearly  Gates  I  see ; 
But  the  doctor  only  murmured, 

"This  is  good  enough  for  me !" 

He  refused  to  go  on  further, 

But  preferred  to  sit  and  gaze 
At  that  crowd  of  rank  old  dead-heads, 

As  they  lay  there  in  the  blaze. 

But  just  then  the  doctor's  office  clock 

Cuckooed  the  hour  of  seven. 
And  he  woke  to  find  himself 

In  neither  hell  nor  heaven. 

G.  A.  Moore,  M.  D. 


SAINT  SMITH 


Forty-two  times  he  has  run  for  the  doctor. 

Forty-two  times  he's  gone  forth  in  the  night, 
Nervously  fastening  on  his  suspenders. 

Hoping  as  never  a  bachelor  might. 
Forty-two  times  he  has  wondered  and  waited, 

Pacing  the  floor  with  his  head  in  a  whirl ; 
Forty-two  times  he  has  heard  the  announcement : 

"It  is  a  boy,"  or  "it's  only  a  girl." 

Forty-two  times  the  grim  nurse  has  denied  him 

Rights  that  he  proudly  supposed  were  his  own; 
Forty-two  times  he  has  harbored  emotions. 

Such  as  the  childless  man  never  has  known. 
Forty-two  times  he  has  bounded  up,  hearing 

The  first  shrill  cry  of  a  strange  little  guest; 
Forty-two  times  he  has  gone  in  the  morning. 

Boasting  and  bragging  and  swelling  his  chest. 

Forty-two  times  he  has  paid  for  frail  ribbons, 

Paid   for   soft   laces   and   fluffy   affairs. 
Paid  for  the  bottles  and  what  is  put  in  them ; 

Forty-two  times  he  has  shouldered  new  cares. 
Forty-two  times  he  has  heard  the  glad  message, 

"Everything's  lovely — come  in — it's  all  right" — 
Forty-two  times  he  has  gone  for  the  dortor. 

Buttoning  up  as  he  rushed  through  the  night. 


FROM  THE  POETS  301 

A  DIFFERENT  DIAGNOSIS 

De  Jones  said,  when  his  wife  grew  sick, 

'Twas  "all  imagination !" 
Mere  "strength  of  will"  would  do  the  trick; 

She  "lacked  determination." 

But  when  De  Jones  himself  fell  ill. 

It  proved  a  grave  disaster. 
That  needed  powder,  draught,  and  pill, 

And  potent  mustard  plaster. 

Harry  Romaine. 


ANARGYRIA 

Oppressed   with  grief,   it  brings   relief 

To  give  our  ills  a  name — 
It  may  not  heal,  but  still  we  feel 

They  are  not  quite  the  same. 
One  widespread  woe,  where'er  we  go. 

We  find  throughout  the  land, 
And  yet  its  name,  unknown  to  fame. 

But  few  would  understand. 
Seek,  if  you  please,  in  Doctor  Rees 

His  Cyclopaedia — 
Mayhap   'twill   ease   your   dire   disease 

Of  Anargyria. 

For,  sooth  to  speak,  sonorous  Greek 

Can  charm  our  pains  awa', 
Like,  as  we've  heard,  "that  blessed  word 

'Mesopotamia.' " 
Physicians  ken — those  learned  men — 

This  truth  right  well,   I  trow. 
And  many  a  cure,  we  know  for  sure, 

Has  been  assisted  so: 
Yet  they  with  pain  may  search  in  vain 

The  Pharmacopoeia 
For  salve  or  pill  to  cure  the  ill 

Of  Anargyria. 

We  all  suppose  that  other  woes 

And  epidemic  pains 
Will  ebb  and  flow,  will  come  and  go — 

But  this  for  aye  remains. 
How  few  evade  its  withering  shade ! 

On  all  alike  it  falls: 


3oa  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

On  small  and  great — in  church  and  state — 

In  corporation  halls. 
Can  no  M.  D.  or  LL.  D. 

Find  us  some  panacea? 
Through  future  days  the  world  would  praise 

In  glowing  lays, 
The  crown  with  bays,  the  man  who  says 

Its  Anargyria  I 

R.  CotTFLAND  HaRMNO. 


NIGHT  IN  THE  SICK-ROOM 

In  torments  lying  on  my  bed, 
I  wait  the  hour  that  heals; 

The  night  lamp,  flickering  overhead, 
Each   well-known   shape   reveals. 

Beethoven's  death-mask  paler  grows, 
And  dimmer  through  the  night; 

Thou  too,  O  man  of  many  woes! 
Hast  wearied  for  the  light. 

Near  by  the  Hermes,  smiling  now 
And  ever,  knows  not  pain ; 

No  sin  stains  that  angelic  brow, 

Where  thought  and  beauty  reign. 

0  radiant  shape  of  sunlit  Greece ! 

Whisper  the  sacred  charm 
That  turns  despair  and  doubt  to  peace. 
Unrest  to  deathless  calm. 

Alas !  the  marble  lips  refuse 

The  mystic  words  to  speak; 

Yet   still   their  beauty  bids   me   choose 
The  saving  truth  to  seek. 

My  waking  sense  grows  faint  and  sore. 

But  to  my  inward  eye 
Forms  long  since  dead  appear  once  more. 

Beneath  an  alien  sky. 

1  stand  within  the  prison-wall 

Where,  amid  tears  and  sighs, 
Socrates  drinks  the  hemlock's  gall. 
And  Greece's  glory  dies. 


FROM  THE  POETS  303 

I  see  the  deep  and  turbid  pool, 

By  the  Ionian  Sea, 
Where  maddened  Sappho  plunged  to  cool 

Her  burning  agony. 

I  see  the  tool  Praxiteles 

Wields,  from  his  fingers  glide. 
As  he  sinks,  spent  with  weariness. 

His  matchless  work  beside. 

A  vast  throng  pass  unfaltering, — 

Bards,  prophets,  heroes,  saints, — 
Each  face  bears  marks  of  suffering, 

But  no  voice  utters  plaints. 

And  while  I  gaze  a  form  draws  near, 

A  voice  the  silence  breaks; 
Fixing  me  with  his  look  austere. 

Music's  great  master  speaks : 

"Cursing  thy  lot?    Thou  dream'dst  these  men 

Quaffed  life  in  joy  and  pride. 
'Twas  never  so ;  as  now,  so  then 

All  sorrowed,  sufifered,  died. 

"Yet  ever  dauntlessly  these  toiled. 

Though  weighed  by  sins  and  flaws 
Obeying  still,   however   foiled. 

The  soul's  unwritten  laws. 

"To  the  great  heart  of  Nature  these 

Inclined  a  reverent  ear. 
Till  through  life's  blurred  dissonances 

A  theme  divine  rang  clear. 

"If  staining  still  thy  faith's  bright  gold 

Commingles  doubt's  alloy. 
Stand  by  my  bed,  where  deaf,  poor,  old, 

I  heard  the  Hymn  of  Joy. 

"And  when  my  mighty  harmony 

Rolls  on  thine  ear  again. 
Know  that  there  sounds  in  majesty 

What  once   I   wrought  in  pain." 

Deep  silence  falls;  then  happy  birds 
Stir  'neath  my  window  eaves. 


304  THE  DOCTOR'S  DOMICILE 

A  rustling  wind  sweeps  by,  and  herds 
Like  sheep  the  fallen  leaves. 

The  white  dawn  glimmers  on  my  eyes 

The  morning's  pledge  to  give. 
Night's  shadows  flee  as  darkness  dies 

To  let  the  new  day  live. 

Margaret  Crosby. 


MADAME  LA  GRIPPE 

A  caller   was   mine,   one   night   last   week 

A  queer  old  lady  in  Russian  furs ; 
Her  nose  was  a  beak,  her  cap  a-peak, 

And  a  pair  of  fiery  eyes  were  hers. 

Never  before  had  I  seen  her  face, 

Yet,  lo !  in  a  flash  of  her  evil  eye. 
She  caught  me  fast  in  a  fierce  embrace. 

And  tossed  me  flat  on  a  couch  near  by. 

Alarmed,  I  cried  to  her:    "Who  art  thou?" 

For  the  sneer  in  her  grimace  made  me  creep; 

She  pressed  her  claw  on  my  burning  brow 

And  whispered :  "I  am  Madame  La  Grippe ) 

"I've  crossed  the  ocean  to  come  to  you 

From  a  Russian  ghetto  far  away ; 
I've  brought  you  a  microbe  strange  and  new; 

My  grip  is  here  and  I've  come  to  stay  I" 

Then,  jerking  my  limbs,  that  ached  full  sore, 
She  blew  in  my  mouth  her  germful  breath; 

I  sneezed  and  I  coughed  enough  for  four; 
The  truth  to  tell,  I  was  scared  to  death. 

Mine  eyes  ran  water,  likewise  my  nose ; 

The  vile  old  harridan,  jeering,  laughed; 
She  rubbed  my  nostrils  red  as  a  rose, 

And  filled  my  lungs  with  a  deadly  draught. 

Then,  gath'ring  her  sables  about  her — thus, 
She  bounced  at  my  chest  in  a  flying  leap. 

And,   squatting   there,   like   an   incubus, 

"I'm  j'our  bosom  friend,"  cried  Madame  La  Grippe. 


FROM  THE  POETS  305 

My  head,  how  it  ached!    It  throbbed  and  burned; 

I  was  chilly  betimes;  then,  hot  and  sick; 
Whenever  the  old  witch  jumped  and  turned, 

She  trounced  me  well  with  her  crooked  stick. 

'Twas  all  I  could  do  to  say  my  prayers, 

I  wept  for  my  sins  (or  seemed  to  weep)  ; 

Then,  heard  the  doctor's  foot  on  the  stairs. 

"My  enemy's  come !"  shrieked  Madame  La  Grippe. 

Down  she  scuttled  in  hottest  of  haste ; 

"Pills  and  powders !"  she  muttered  low ; 
Like  an  angry  cat,  round,  round  she  raced, 

And  gathered  her  traps  with  a  "Here's  a  go !" 

Then,  made  me  a  courtesy  full  of  spite ; 

"You've  got  your  experience,  dear  or  cheap ! 
I'm  off  to  St.  Petersburg  tonight. 

But  it's  au  revoir !"  snarled  Madame  La  Grippe. 

Eleanor  C.  Donnelly. 


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